Disclaimer: None of the marvel characters belong to me and all that jazz. However the smut does.
Note to the reader: This was what one would call an improv fic. I picked the fandom and characters out of hat--then after 10 mins of brainstorming I had to just wing it. So here it is--my complete oneshot Pr0ns.
John winced, looking at his distorted reflection in the cup of coffee clasped between his hands. He had never been a great drinker--and the morning after was one of his least favorite times of day. With a head full of shattered glass, or so it felt, he raised his head to look at the source of the whistling that disturbed his burdened silence.
Feeling eyes upon him, Remy LeBeau turned to face the boy in a flourish of worn leather and touseled hair.
"Bon Matin P'tite" he greeted with a smirk and a Creole accent. His smile was perfect and casual as he fondled a plastic coated playing card in one hand—a few eggs in the other—and a bottle of olive oil under his arm.
"Save it Bayou" grumbled John "I need an asprin—not a French lesson" the double "s" on "lesson" was slightly slurred—as if still in a drunken tongue.
"But P'tite—everyone knows that francais is the language of lovers." Remy smirked, leaning over the counter toward John.
"And judgin' from your expression—one could only guess dat you're havin' trouble wit such a ting." He winked at John—who had abandoned his lukewarm coffee for the safety of the zippo in his jeans pocket.
"Maybe you're havin' troubles wit Marie?" John blushed slightly, he had been known to admire her from afar.
"Or maybe…dis is not the case?...Maybe Bobby?" John turned crimson, he had, infact, had a few encounters with his friend—but due to his relationship with Marie, nothing came of it.
"Fuck you man!" John growled, launching himself from his seat and making his way toward the exit.
"Ah ah ah cher!" Gambit grabbed ahold of John's shirt collar and pinned him up against the industrial sized fridge, forcing his shoulder blades flat against the cool metal surface of the door. "You dun ever say tings like dat to your profeseur de francais p'tite." A smirk crossed Remy's lips as John's breath caught in his throat.
"Well, without it goin' unpunished of course."
John's fingers attempted to grasp the slick surface of the fridge as Remy closed in on him . His jaw trembled as if he wanted to protest—yet no sound escaped his lips as Remy crushed John's with his own. It was no loving expression of the soul, it was a purely animal invasion of the senses. As Gambit pulled back—the taste of burbon and black coffee still lingering on John's lips – he smirked a private smirk.
"I am so sick to DEATH of detention p'tite." Remy sighed, producing a pack of plastic coated poker sized playing cards from his jacket pocket.
"…I…I…I" John stammered, his mouth feigning speech as gambit put a finger over his lips.
"Dun worry p'tite." He slid the ace of spades into John's mouth, so that his teeth barely held it in place. "Now I wan you to jus hold dat card righ' there mon cher" He slid down John's front with his hands, slowly bending as he went. John whined a little and nearly let his lips down onto the card.
"Ah, ah, ah! Non non cher—no slobber on de card…" he pushed the metal button through the heavy material of the hole on the fly of John's pants.
John could feel the tops of his ears burning—his cheeks on fire with blush. When Remy had kissed him, a surge of desire, the same fire that ripped through him when he touched Bobby—
"Well, well, well, what do we have 'ere?" Remy chuckled from his place, kneeling on the tile floor in front of John's swelling arousal.
John tried to look down, he strained his eyes tried desperately to tilt his head down—but that god forsaken card was in the way. He tried hard to close his eyes to focus on something else—on the lighter in his pocket—if only he could get a hand to that lighter…
"P'tite," Gambit interrupted his thoughts. "You might want to hold that card a lil' lighter. Any teeth marks an' there'll be more punishment." Before John could protest, Remy had removed the cotton knit boxers John was wearing. "Jus relax p'tite," Remy insisted, removing a black semi-fingerless glove from his left hand. "Just be careful of the card an' relax cher." Careful to wet his hand with a little saliva, Remy made one agonizingly slow stroke from hilt to tip. John groaned.
By this point John wasn't trying to fight it any longer—all thoughts of Bobby had washed from his brain—he was 100% focused on keeping the card perched lightly between his teeth—and the pumping motions, steadily increasing in speed that Remy was making with his hand.
"Hold onto that card Cher." Remy warned, as he curled his velvet tongue around John's head. He looked up to check on the boy-shaking where he stood.
"Good job p'tite!" He chuckled before taking John in his entirety into his mouth. For John, this was too much—he bit down hard on the card. Remy stopped his long purling motions, and stood.
"Aw now look what you done." Remy pouted, removing the card from John's quivering lips. He examined it carefully, then turned it to John.
"Look 'dere's teeth marks in dis one. I can't use dis card anymore." He pressed up against John and held his chin lightly in his hands
. "You're going to be punished mon ami," he whispered before kissing the boy deeply once more.
John had a feeling he was going to be punished by the blatant bulge in Remy's pants—that was now digging into his leg. He also had the feeling—he wanted to be punished. He also decided, he didn't like this Cajun talking down to him anymore. After all, he was the unstoppable St. John Allerdyce.
John pushed off the fridge, and kissed Remy back in a way he hadn't kissed anyone before. It was angry, it was passionate, it was smoldering with lust. Remy returned the kiss with equal fervor, breaking it only to remove John's shirt.
"Why Kevlar?" John hissed under his breath. No sooner had he complained, Remy had shed said Kevlar and just about everything else. John had begun to kiss Remy once more, snaking his hand down to his throbbing erection; when quicker than anything he had seen before, Remy snatched his wrist and forced him to his knees.
"Now cher, you didn't think I was goin' to forget your lil' punishment eh?"
John glared at him wide-eyed. He had never been this vulnerable before—he had never been this…scared. Upon seeing his look, Remy lowered to his knees beside the boy.
"Now, now cher," he caressed Johns face "no reason to be lookin' petrified." He kissed the boy deeply, reaching a hand back to his swollen manhood. Quietly, he slid behind John, diverting his kisses to his shoulders and back as he continued to stroke his length. He moved his other hand down to the pale curve of John's firm ass and lifted it , forcing him forward onto his hands and knees.
One hand reached savagely for the olive oil on the counter—and upon finding it was quick to slather both Remy's eager cock—and John's perhaps not so eagar opening with it.
"Desole mon cher." Gambit whispered as he placed his head at John's entrance. He hesitated a moment before lurching forward. John cried out slightly. Remy rested a few moments—buried deep inside his lover. He didn't wish to move for fear of hurting the boy any further. But suddenly John moved forward, then back.
"Jesu Christ." Remy hissed. He couldn't belive the warmth—the tightness. He began to move, Remy stroking John in time to his thrusts. It wasn't long before the two of them reached their peak—gleaming with sweat, racing against eachother, as Remy exploded inside of John, and John released onto the grey tile floor. The two collapsed, exhausted from the "punishment."
"Definitely better than detention." John sighed.
"Absolutment."
(FIN)