STORY SUMMARY: This is a sequel to my story The Hand You're Dealt, and is a VERY loose AU of X-Men 3. Jean Grey returns; but how? And as what? Remy/Logan/OFC.
STORY NOTES: Like I said, this is a sequel to my story The Hand You're Dealt, (which is in turn a sequel to Born at the Right Time.) If for some reason you want to read this but none of the previous stories, well, I won't stop you, but you might find it confusing.
A quick summary of the previous stories if you haven't read them or want a refresher: Born at the Right Time (www . fanfiction. net /s/6812069/1/Born_at_the_Right_Time ) takes place pre-X1 through the events of X2, and is basically an AU telling of those two movies where Gambit and my original character, Nori/Echo (Yuriko Oyama's sister), are members of the Brotherhood.
The Hand You're Dealt (www . fanfiction . net /s/6896328/1/The_Hand_Youre_Dealt ) features Remy and Nori getting kidnapped by the Friends of Humanity & saved by the X-Men. They recover from their injuries, join the X-Men, have some adventures, and start having a three-way relationship with Logan. (Like you do.)
These stories draw on the events of X-Men Origins: Wolverine and the first two X-Men movies, but not The Last Stand. I also pulled in pieces of Gambit's comics backstory, but not some of the weirder stuff. If you don't know comics, no worries.
Much like all the stories in this verse, this story is pretty shameless in its pursuit of hurt/comfort. Grad school is stressful, I just want to write thousands of words about cuddling and threesomes with Remy and Logan, okay?
Rated M for sexy times (between consenting adults. Three of them.).
COPYRIGHT NOTES: Like, duh, the X-Men and the Brotherhood all belong to Marvel and Fox. And Stan Lee. The title "All That We Let In" is stolen from, I mean, in homage to, the Indigo Girls song of the same name.
Chapter 1 (Logan)
"Did you get the hostages?" I ask. Blood is rushing through my veins. Nothing gets me more excited than a good fight, even if it's simulated.
"Easy, mon ami, they're fine," Gambit drawls. He's wearing that brown leather duster of his, though it's far from the most practical item of clothing for fighting. It looks good on him, and he knows it. "Did you take care of the FOH?"
I snort. "You see any of them?" Just then, a flash of motion catches my eye. I'm actually at a disadvantage in the Danger Room compared to fighting real people—sims don't have a smell. If there had been a real person hiding behind that debris, I would've smelled him. As it was, I still had plenty of time to stroll over and knock him out with a brutal punch. "All right," I say, "Do you see any of 'em now?"
He smirks. The room flickers and turns silver and empty. "Simulation competed," a soft female voice says. I've always wondered why Cerebro and the Danger Room have women's voices. Maybe I'm not the only one to get a little turned on by violence. Hell, I know I'm not—I can smell it on Remy. He always smells unbelievably good, but now, sweaty and aroused, it's almost unbearable.
"Well," Remy says, "Much as I enjoy the Danger Room, I do believe I will be on my way." He raises an eyebrow at me in invitation, and I follow him upstairs. There are locker rooms downstairs with showers, but sometimes a little privacy is called for, so we go to the shower in Remy and Nori's room. I guess it's partly my room, too, given how often I've slept there over the last six months, but I always think of it as their room. I still have my own room. I'll probably always want my own room. I can barely believe I'm sharing a house with so many people, let alone sharing a room with two. I won't say I don't like sharing a bed with them, though. Or a shower.
Remy and I clean each other off and relieve a little tension, jacking each other off in the shower. As far as I remember, I've never been attracted to men before, but I'm happy to make an exception for Remy. I'm not sure there's anyone out there, man, woman, or otherwise, who isn't attracted to Remy. His pheromones are ridiculously powerful, and I am more susceptible to them than most. Must be part of his mutation, or maybe he'd be like this even if he weren't a mutant. No way to tell, and I don't much care. I groan and come against Remy's skilled hand. He smiles down at me, and I growl and shove him against the wall of the shower, covering that smug mouth with my own.
Remy's definitely been with men before. He likes it, likes that I'm rougher with him than little Nori is or could ever be. They say variety is the spice of life, and I'll buy that.
When we're both clean and sated, we step out of the shower and dress. It's just about lunchtime, so we head down to the dining hall. Hungry after my morning's endeavors, I grab two cheeseburgers and sit down next to Nori, who has an enormous salad in front of her. My vegetarian girl has never said a word to me about eating meat—she knows my protein needs are different from hers—but I can pick up a glimmer of revulsion from her empathy. Still, she gives me a wide smile and says, "So, how was the DR? Is the mansion safe from simulated combatants?"
I snort and Remy, across from me, says, "It most certainly is."
"Well, thank God for that," she replies. Her tone is a little teasing, but her obvious fondness for Remy overpowers any sting.
"How was your morning?" he asks.
"Not bad. Had music class. I spent like ten minutes flipping out when I realized none of them knew who Woody Guthrie was. But now they know!"
I have to laugh at that. In our class, Remy and I "flip out" (as Nori would say) when the kids don't know how to block punches. Guess Xavier's provides a balanced education.
I'm not sure if she actually overheard my thought or just guessed, but she smiles and says, "So, what's on your agenda this afternoon?"
"Working with the trainees on hostage situations."
"Oh," she says. "How to save them, or how to take them?"
Remy glances at me and smirks. "Hey, maybe we should put together a scenario on how to take hostages."
"You never know when it'll come in handy," Nori says lightly.
I shake my head. "Let's work on the rescue missions first."
"Yeah. I guess that's good," Nori says. She has a slightly wistful expression. I know she still has regrets about being grounded from the X-Men. After all her injuries, she still wants to help people. But I think it's for the best, and I'm thankful that Hank and Scott were so adamant about it. If they weren't, I think I would have tried to talk them into it.
I just don't like the idea of Nori fighting on the team. It isn't just that weird things happen to her powers when she gets hit in the head, and it isn't just because she's small. Kitty Pryde's about her size, and I think she'll be fine on the team one of these days. And it isn't because she's a woman—there are few people I'd rather have at my back than Storm. It's just something about her personality. She's so sensitive and gets so upset by violence. I know she likes the idea of using her powers to help people, but it would come at such a high personal cost to her. Better she use her talents here at the school and let other people handle the fighting. People like me and Remy, people who actually kind of enjoy the rush of fighting, whatever that says about us.
This isn't to say that I don't take the task of training the students in defense and combat seriously. I do. I know what they're up against, what we're up against. The thought of any of them getting killed by some ignorant human with a gun burns me up, and I'm doing everything I can to keep them alive. Better they walk around the school with sore muscles and muttered complaints about how mean me and Remy are than for them to stop walking around entirely.
The afternoon's scenario with the students goes all right. They lose two hostages and Siryn takes a few virtual bullets. But still, could have been worse. I tell them that when we debrief in the Sit Room.
"I thought we did pretty good," drawls Cannonball.
"Tell that to Siryn," I say, and he blushes.
Gambit says, "You're right, Cannonball, y'did pretty good. But 'pretty good' ain't always enough, non? That is why we practice, so you will all become extremely good." He grins. Gambit is definitely the "good cop" here, and that's fine. The kids need encouragement, but they also need somebody to remind them that this shit is serious. He and I make a good team. Though, if the kids really need to be reminded how serious things are, they just need to look around the school, at the bereaved Scott or the PTSD-stricken Nori. After a few more minutes of discussion, we let the kids go shower up.
Remy and I go upstairs and find Nori on the couch in her bedroom. She's wrapped up in a blanket with sleeves, which the kids had given her for Christmas this year, and reading a copy of Bitch magazine.
I raise my eyebrows at that. "You getting some good tips from that magazine, darlin'?"
She smiles up at me and reads aloud, "'In rock music, there tends to be two types of women granted the stage: tough girls and nice girls. Tough girls—Polly Jean Harvey, Patti Smith—get respect, albeit grudgingly, because they display traits we honor in men: They're confrontational, direct, balls-out. Nice girls—Dusty Springfield, Sarah McLachlan—are admired for displaying the compliance and sweetness we associate with femininity. Of course, it's a false dichotomy: No one is purely nice or purely strong.' Remember that, Logan. It's a false dichotomy."
What the hell? I wonder. Nori always keeps me on my toes. I shrug and say. "How could I forget?"
"Good." She puts the magazine down and I sit next to her for a quick kiss. Which ends up being not terribly quick. Her mouth is always so soft and yielding.
Finally, I pull away and look at Remy, who's sitting on the bed watching us. "Such a sweet girl," I murmur.
Nori smiles, and Remy says, "I agree completely."
She shrugs out of her blanket and gives Remy a kiss to even things out before we go down to dinner. We eat and watch a little TV with the students before going up to bed early.
I still can't believe how much I enjoy sex with Nori and Remy. I'd thought about threesomes before, sure, but it had never really been one of my top fantasies. But something about our dynamic just works. Out of bed, Nori pretty much has Remy and I wrapped around her finger. She knows it, but she doesn't abuse her power the way some women would. In bed, Nori has a submissive streak that Remy and I have a lot of fun with. There's nothing quite like a pretty woman looking up at you with wide eyes and begging for your cock. Sometimes we play with handcuffs or ropes, which are unnecessary—she could easily undo them with her telekinesis, and if I really wanted to hold her to the bed I'd be better off using my hands. But they're fun, and not a little arousing. Of course, the whole thing only works because Nori knows we'd never in a hundred years really hurt her.
Tonight, we keep it fairly simple. No props, just the three of us panting and writhing together. It might sound sappy, but I truly think my favorite part of being with them is simply sleeping together and waking up together. All three of us have had our share of nightmares, and it's nice to have someone there to pet me and bring me back to the present. Too, I enjoy the opportunity to comfort them when they have nightmares, to know that I can do something to help repair these people who have been broken the way I have been broken.
And even without sex, without nightmares—I like the intimacy of waking up with them, seeing them first thing in the morning. I like knowing that there are people who care whether I live or die. I'm reflecting on all that when Nori curls up and throws one arm over me. I move a little bit and feel her pressing against my back. I'm a lucky man, and I know it.
The next morning, Remy and I work out together like usual. We have the afternoon free, since it's a day off of training for the kids. We decide to go see what Nori's up to. Being the music teacher (and de facto college guidance counselor) takes more prep work than me and Remy's job. Our work doesn't take too much time to plan, though Remy did actually read the Core Concepts in Physical Fitness and Wellness textbook Scott gave us. My copy is still untouched in one of my desk drawers. I figured if there's anything useful in it, Remy'd tell me.
We stop outside her office. I sniff the air and determine that she's alone in there, so we walk in without knocking. She's sitting cross-legged at her desk, headphones on. She's tapping out a rhythm on her desk and she doesn't look up from it when she telepathically greets us. Hey, boys. Hang on a minute.
We sit down on her office sofa and watch her. Her look of concentration is endearing. If my attraction to Remy is surprising, my attraction to Nori is not. She's definitely my type, and as far back as I can remember, I've been pretty consistent in that area. A psychologist would probably have something to say about my affinity for these delicate, gentle women, but I'm not anxious to ask Chuck about it. Or maybe it just comes down to another saying: opposites attract.
Finally, Nori stops tapping, takes off her headphones, and looks over at us.
"Bored?" she asks.
"Terribly lonely, cherie," Remy says.
"It's been like two hours since I saw you at lunch."
"Two very long hours," he says melodramatically.
She laughs. "Well, you know you're welcome to hang out in my office."
"You sure? We'd hate to interrupt your desk-tapping time."
"Interrupt away. I mean, you guys, if any of my college music professors knew I was creating a capella arrangements of a Ke$ha song… well… just, please don't tell them."
"I promise you, your secret is safe with us," Remy replies.
"Excellent."
"Is Kesha a person?" I ask. I've gotten a little better at knowing pop culture shit after spending close to two years now living at a high school, but it's really not my strong suit.
"Kind of," Nori says, her eyes dancing. "No, that's mean, she's definitely a person. She's a pop singer... but she can barely sing. Her songs are super catchy but hilariously awful."
"If her songs are so awful, why are you arranging them?"
"I'm arranging one, because the kids voted and picked it. And, to a certain extent anyway, it doesn't really matter what you sing. If you sing it well, and practice it, you'll get better at singing. And they practice more if it's a song they like. And it does have kind of a tricky rhythm, so props to Ke$ha for that. And this song doesn't have any lyrics about brushing your teeth with whiskey, which is just a poor dental practice."
"Oh? What are you supposed to use, then?" Remy asks.
She rolls her eyes and laughs. Her soft black hair is twisted up with a pencil, and she pulls out the pencil and shakes her head. She puts the pencil away and puts some lotion on her hands. It smells of hemp—not my favorite, but better than that heavy, flowery shit most women wear. She rubs it carefully into her fingers. Nori has soft skin everywhere except her hardworn hands. Finally, her grooming needs met, she rises from the desk and squeezes in between me and Remy on the couch.
"You're both so warm!" she says. I reach out and take her left hand, which feels freezing.
"Cold hands, warm heart," I say, and frown. It sounds more like something Remy would say. Guess the Cajun's rubbing off on me. She smiles up at me.
"February is the worst month," Nori sighs.
"At least it's short," Remy says.
I don't really mind the cold myself. And, I'll admit, I like it when Nori snuggles against me for warmth. She's squirming against me now, but I realize belatedly she's trying to get her phone out of the pocket of her jeans. She glances at the screen and answers with a smile.
"Hi, Aiko," she says, her voice warm for her beloved niece. Her smile fades as she says, "What? Honey, what's wrong?" I can hear crying from the phone.
I look at Nori, but she's staring at the floor with a look of concentration on her face. I glance at Remy. He's squeezing her knee. I decide to just keep holding her hand and wait until we hear more.
NOTE: The Bitch magazine article Nori quotes is "Birth of the Uncool: In defense of the Tori Amos fan" by Sady Doyle from the spring 2011 issue.