Rating: R Fandom: X-Men: The Movie Characters: Storm and ensemble movie cast, but introducing… Gambit Archive: Ask me, I don't bite. Unless you don't ask…
Author's Note: I had to try my hand at putting Remy into movieverse. The way I'd like to see it done. Because it doesn't look like Singer is going to give it a try. Darn. 11/21/01
Disclaimer: 20th Century Fox has the movie rights, Marvel the rest. I'm not making any money here, just burning my own time and creativity.
Remy LeBeau disconnected the phone sharply in the middle of the recorded message. Third time. Bernard was avoiding him.
He cursed as he strode across his apartment through the late afternoon sun and dropped the phone back into its cradle. Red-on-black eyes flaring with frustration. He ran his hands impatiently through his loose auburn hair as he stared out over his penthouse patio at the New York skyline.
Bernard wasn't reachable, which was odd. It was critical to his work that clients or operatives be able to reach him no matter what time of day or night. But he was out of contact, had been for half a day. Maybe Remy'd been too hard on the man and scared him into hiding. The broker had seemed genuinely frightened by the people behind the Xavier job.
And ever since he'd put down the three toughs on the street that morning Remy had been feeling edgy too. Something wasn't right. A sense of trouble looming, maybe. A premonition.
Premonitions had kept him alive before. He picked up his long leather duster, the one with the collapsible staff and other critical equipment concealed in the lining, then grabbed his keys and his sunglasses and was gone.
Ororo Monroe sat alone in the mansion library, staring out at the distant trees and cloud-dotted sky beyond the opened windows. The air soft and fragrant with the aroma of summer flowers that she herself had planted. Idly dreaming of eyes that glowed faintly under starlight and a wicked smile that tugged deep at her soul.
Earlier she had been tutoring two students who had fallen behind on history lessons due to wild flare-ups of mutant powers. Not the usual reason a teenager would miss class, but all too common at Mutant High, at least with the younger students. Summer class schedules were far lighter than regular term, but since a large portion of the children had nowhere else to go, they gave them a break during the time the lucky few returned home for the summer. It seemed the least they could do.
Someone entered the room behind her but she didn't turn around. She heard the solid tread of heavy feet and realized it was probably Logan. He could move quietly when he wanted too, but lumbered like a bull otherwise. But then, she was unusually sensitive to sound and moving around all that metal on his bones was probably tiring.
"What can I do for you, Logan?" she asked after the silence dragged on for a while. He shifted behind her, and she could readily imagine his frown.
"I wanted to apologize," he said gruffly. That turned her around. She looked at him with mild surprise.
"Apologize?"
He frowned deeper and shifted on his feet. Looking quite uncomfortable in a most un-Logan like way. Almost embarrassed. "For some of the things I said this morning – and Friday night – 'bout the thief an' you."
She searched his dark eyes. He met her gaze levelly. Seeing her, perhaps, for the first time. As a woman and a person in her own right, not just as a teammate or a fellow teacher.
"That's big of you," she said quietly. "Thank you."
"I'm not so sure Chuck and Cyke are on the right track with this guy. I've known people like him before. Their first loyalty is always to themselves," he said, his brows drawn low over his eyes. "I don't want to see you get hurt by some slick talkin' thief out to make a big score."
Ororo found herself strangely touched. The Wolverine gave his concern sparingly. That he'd admit to being worried about her was nothing short of amazing.
"I appreciate that, I really do," she said, hugging the memory of Remy's visit to her room to her heart. He'd come for nothing except to see her. "But I don't think he's just looking to make a score here."
Logan frowned back at her. Obviously doubting. Then he gave her a short nod of acknowledgement, looking like he wanted to argue further, but to her relief he just turned and walked stiffly away
Scott Summers stood in the doorway of the bedroom he shared with Jean Grey. Arms folded, face grim, he watched the woman he loved pack her suitcase.
"I'm still not sure it's a good idea for both of you to be gone like this now," Scott said quietly. Jean cast a worried look at him over her shoulder. A package of pantyhose crinkled in her hand.
"You know we have to go to this symposium, Scott. The Professor has a panel on Thursday and I have one Wednesday. Besides, I thought you felt this LeBeau guy was okay," she said, frowning.
"It's not him I'm worried about," Scott said. "It's the people who hired him. Someone wants genetic information on us – and the students – badly enough to hire a professional thief to get it. That makes me uneasy." She tossed the pantyhose into her suitcase.
"Well," Jean said, as she turned and came over to him. "Maybe you should just ask him to find out who hired him in the first place." She moved close and he lowered his arms so she could slip her arms around his waist. He put his arms around her in return. Savoring, as always, the wonder of Jean in his arms.
"You know, honey," Scott said with a wry smile. "That's not a bad idea. There's just one problem..."
"…we don't know how to get hold of him," Jean finished for him with a frustrated sigh. "I know. And the professor's tried Cerebro twice now. I think he considers it a kind of insult that he can't pinpoint our elusive Mr. LeBeau."
They held each other in thoughtful silence for a while until Scott asked, "Why would he have mental shields like that anyway, do you think?"
Her face settled into contemplative lines, a little crease appearing between her brows. Another mutant power puzzle to sort out.
"He's probably a telepath of some strength. And since he's a functional person and not catatonic and doesn't appear to be schizophrenic, he must have learned how to shield himself early on," Jean said with a wince. "Unlike me."
Jean had spent several of her early teen years in a mental institution, committed by her parents for hearing 'voices' in her head. It wasn't until Professor Xavier found her and taught her to shield herself from the minds of others that she had a more normal life. That was primarily why her telekinesis was far more developed than her telepathy. She had painful memories of the onset of her telepathic power and was still fairly reluctant to drop her shields for anyone other than the Professor and Scott and Ororo.
Scott tightened his arms around her as she shuddered, cheek pressed to hers. Comforting her automatically. He'd read her records. He'd read everyone in the mansion's medical records. In his capacity as team leader, he needed to know everyone's background regarding their mutation. To understand their weaknesses and strengths. He hugged her tighter and she burrowed against him, not adverse to the comfort of his arms though she'd long ago dealt with her pain.
As her lover, he felt her reluctance, her fear and wanted to protect her. As her team leader, he understood the value a high-level telepath could bring to the team and wanted to encourage her to develop it. Sometimes it was a difficult path to tread.
"They could be entirely defensive and he may not even be able to lower them voluntarily," she continued after a moment. "We just don't know. He wasn't very cooperative and we didn't have very much time to study him anyway. And then there were his eyes and that energy absorption curve that looked a lot like yours..." She sighed heavily and he knew the researcher in her was frustrated. Such an interesting case. So little opportunity to work on it.
"Yes," Scott said. "He's probably full of surprises. But it's not his mutant powers we need him for here – it's his skills and his contacts."
"Well, maybe he'll drop in on 'Ro again while the Professor and I are gone," Jean said, drawing back slightly to look him in the glasses, catching his gaze behind the red lenses. A faint frown marred her brow again, but this one was from concern.
"You don't think that would be a good thing?" Scott asked gently, aware of her change in mood. Jean shrugged slightly.
"You know I've been worried about her for a while. She's lonely and tries so hard to hide it. And he seemed so fascinated with her." Jean bit her lip. "I just don't want her to be hurt if he turns out to be some kind of creep after all."
Scott laughed and shook his head. Jean frowned deeper and drew away from him. He caught her hand, keeping her from pulling completely away.
"Frankly, I wouldn't want to be in LeBeau's shoes if he really is stringing her along. She does command lightning, you know," he chuckled gently, but his expression was still serious. Jean found herself smiling reluctantly. Scott was worried too, but trying to lighten her fears. Ororo had been their friend for a long time; watching someone break her heart wasn't something either of them wanted to do.
She'd much rather Ororo didn't have to resort to lightning bolts. But if it came to that, she'd help hold LeBeau down.
Remy LeBeau entered the rundown walk-up apartment with ease. The locks were pitiful, even if there were nine of them. Bernard could easily afford a better place but had apparently chosen a slightly seedier neighborhood in order to avoid drawing too many questions about his strange comings and goings at all hours.
Looking around the small apartment, Remy thought that perhaps Bernard had also chosen this type of place to live in order to avoid health code violations. The politest thing that could be said about it was that it was a sty. Old take-out boxes were piled on every flat surface, amid dirty plates and molding cups, stacks of magazines, papers and other junk leaned everywhere, dirty clothes and trash lay on the floor. A tiny TV with a coat hanger for an antenna sat near a grimy lounge chair, beer cans scattered on the floor beside it. The place was rank in the evening warmth.
Bernard was not at home. Not even dead in the bedroom, though Remy had half-feared that when he first opened the door and the stench rolled over him.
He found Bernard's incongruously neat office in the much smaller second bedroom. Windows boarded closed so no one could see in. An AC unit nailed into the window frame for cooling. Ruthlessly organized paper files. A top-of-the-line computer system with high-speed connections. Multiple telephone lines. He found his own file in the file cabinet and paged through it absently. Not much information there, as he'd expected. Frowning at the picture there, a candid one he'd not been aware had been taken. Though he recognized the meeting place and time.
Going into the equally filthy bathroom, he first turned on the fan, then the shower at full strength. Then he charged up the entire file and tossed it into the bathtub. The papers and photo exploded there with a muffled bang, the noise mostly hidden by the noise of the shower and the sound of the fan. He shut off the water and let the fan continue to run to clear out any lingering smoke as he went back to the office.
Remy woke the computer from sleep mode and curled his lip at the password request. Hacking wasn't his favorite part of any job, but he was fairly good at it. Bernard was paranoid, in his own way, but rather predictable. Remy rifled through the file cabinet one more time, finally pulling out a select few files and opening them on the desk beside the keyboard. Then he settled down in the ergonomically correct and very uncomfortable chair and went to work.
Ororo came out onto the front steps of the mansion after dinner, awash in a flood of kids who had come to see Dr. Grey and the Professor off to a medical symposium on genetics being held in New York for the rest of the week. Rogue, Jubilee and Kitty were talking with Jean eagerly, all but begging for small items from the city, as if they never had a chance to go there themselves. Scott closed the rolling side door of the modified van after making certain the Professor's chair was secured properly in the back and privately bidding him a good trip. Jean waved to them all as she started the van and turned on the headlights. The girls backed away and dashed for the stairs, calling out cheerful and loud good-byes. The school's usual orderliness slipped a little during the summer.
"We'll be back by Friday night," Jean called, waving through the rolled down window. The kids waved wildly back. Scott just smiled at her and Ororo knew they'd already said their good-byes in private. She felt a brief pang of longing.
//Watch out for yourself, 'Ro,// she heard in Jean's soft mental voice. Her head jerked up and she frowned curiously at her friend. Jean smiled gently back.
//I will,// she replied. //You too. Don't let any handsome, dashing research geneticists sweep you off your feet or poor Scott will be lost.// She was genuinely touched by her friend's concern, knowing how rare it was for Jean to indulge in mental communication. But she just couldn't resist the small tease.
//I'll be too busy with the symposium,// Jean said, and Ororo could feel the humor in her mental voice. //But that certainly won't stop me from looking!//
Ororo laughed out loud. Jean waved one last time, then drove away. The kids trailed back inside chattering excitedly. With Jean and the Professor both gone, classes had been cut back even further. It was even more of a summer vacation now.
Scott turned around on the bottom step, hands in his slacks pockets, his eyes completely hidden behind his lenses in the darkness.
"What did she say?" he asked with a small smile. Ororo just shook her head in amusement, a wicked gleam in her eye.
"Girl stuff, Scott," she said smugly. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you." He laughed and climbed the short steps to her side. They could hear joyful screams coming from inside the mansion somewhere as high spirits were unleashed on a warm summer evening.
"Well, you ready to take on the kids now that they're really in the vacation mood?" he said heavily. They heard an irritated bellow from Logan inside. Then a brief silence followed by more yelling, pounding feet and shrieks of laughter.
"Where does Jean hide the sedatives?" she asked with mock anguish, rolling her eyes dramatically at the noise.
"Gonna drug 'em all?" Scott said, lips twisting in a smile. And somehow not looking entirely adverse to the idea.
She shook her head ruefully. "No, I meant for us!"
And laughing, they entered the mansion together.
He picked up the tail when he left Bernard's apartment. Necessary information safely memorized. All of Bernard's files on him destroyed. Slanting shadows filled the streets as the summer sun began it's slow descent. The air still warm as night fell.
Remy always lowered his shields slightly when working. It had preserved his freedom and saved his life more than once to have that early warning, despite the pain it could bring. Only at Xavier's had he been forced to shield tightly.
He felt the single peak of interest rise above the background flow of emotion when he came out the front door of the building. Noted the sharpened focus on him in particular. He walked easily out to his motorcycle on the curb, climbing aboard and casually scanning the street as he readied his helmet.
There, on the far side of the block, a tall, muscular black man lounged with apparent ease against the stoop of a building amid a loose group of other people. But the ones around him were uneasy. They didn't know him. Remy let his gaze slide over the man without reacting. He'd put in his contacts as he always did for public work. Even though, if the job was at night, he could see just as easily right through his sunglasses, they drew too much attention. Thus the contacts were a necessary evil.
He slipped his helmet on and started the engine, backing his bike into the street. The tail was good. His attention sharpened, but he made no move to follow. Not until Remy had almost reached the corner. Then the man simply lifted a cell phone and made a call. Transferring the tail to a mobile unit that couldn't have been spotted. A thrill shot through him. Professionals.
Remy let a wicked smile touch his lips as he revved his bike.
Losing them was going to be fun.
Despite the warmth of the evening, the girl drew the tattered raincoat with it's enveloping hood closer around her face and body as she huddled beside a dumpster in the alley behind a restaurant. Waiting for the garbage to be taken out so that she could scrounge a meal. The smell of cooking food wafting from the opened back doors was beginning to make her dizzy.
She was so hungry.
It had been more than a week since her life went to hell. Not that it hadn't been hell before, but this was a special, darker kind of hell. At least before she'd had food to eat and clothes to wear and a place to sleep, even if she'd had to be careful of her mother's latest boyfriend's drunken rages. Now she was on the streets full-time. And didn't dare approach anyone she knew.
She didn't even dare be seen.
For a little while she'd contemplated just stepping off a bridge. Falling through the air into the dark, cold water below. Ending it all. She wasn't quite there yet, though the idea lurked somewhere in the back of her mind. A last resort, maybe.
Because she'd always been a fighter. Since she was little and a few of the endless succession of boyfriends that paraded through her mother's life had taken an unhealthy interest in an ugly little girl. Biting and kicking and screaming had soon dissuaded them. At least until she'd fallen asleep. Then had come the real horror. But she'd fought then too, as hard as she could. Most of the time it had worked. Sometimes, well, those times she preferred not to remember.
But how could she fight her own body? The grinding aches in her bones that her mother had callously dismissed as her womanly curse or just growing up too fast had become something far worse. At first just scabby hard spots on the skin above her joints or wherever the bones were close to the skin, then full-scale painful eruptions, then spikes of bone, hard and dry, protruding through her skin. And after a while, they broke free, leaving a drying socket of bone and bleeding skin behind. The piece that came away was usually knife-like and sharp.
She hid them under baggy clothes for a while, but when they started erupting on her face she was discovered. Her mother threw her out of the house and told her never to return, screaming and crying in horror and disgust. Calling her an abomination and a curse and worse… a mutant.
And she was. A mutant. A mutie freak like those in the news. Her stomach churned with fear and self-loathing. Everyone hated mutants.
She did too, even though she'd become one.
A long dark limousine turned into the alley and she huddled further into the dark corner behind the dumpster, feeling one of the longer protrusions on her back break free with a wet crack. It hurt, like it always did in that same dull way, but she bit her lip and stayed as still as possible. Not wanting to be found and chased away.
The car came to a slow stop behind the restaurant. She watched it from under her hood warily.
One of the back doors opened and a tall man got out. He was really tall. And blond and hulking. Like a football player or something. Huge. He lifted his head and took a deep breath, almost like he was sniffing. Then he turned right toward the dumpster. His eyes were like black pits. A long leather coat flapped around his legs as he moved.
"Smell ya, little mutie girl," he called out, his voice low, growling. "C'mon out. Ain't gonna hurt ya."
She reached under her coat and grabbed one of the sharp bones sticking off her ribs. Broke it free, biting her tongue against the brief pain. She held the piece of her own skeleton like a knife, ready.
The big man came closer, straight for her hiding place. He shoved the cardboard box in front of her aside with a violent swipe of his arm and she flinched back in shock. How had he known? She stared up and up at him. He was so massive he blocked out the light from the restaurant's back door. He smiled down at her, showing long sharp teeth.
"There you are, girlie," he said with a leer.
Frightened, angry, she lunged toward him. Jabbing the sharp piece of bone deep into his leg. He reared back with a howl of rage, slapping at her. She didn't dodge in time. The powerful blow sent her flying across the alleyway, her body landing hard and skidding across the rough concrete. Protruding pieces of bone snapped free with sickening pops from all over her back and side. The impact drove most of the air from her lungs.
He was on her with terrifying speed, his massive hands lifting her into the air. Her hood fell away and she blinked at him, stunned, gasping. Pieces of shattered bone and clotted blood stuck to her, the longer, broken-off bone shards from her back fell out of her coat and dropped to the ground around them with wet clatters as he gave her a shake.
"You an ugly one, ain't ya?" he rumbled, sneering, dark gaze raking her face. Tears ran down her dirty cheek. Of breathless pain and aching hunger and angry fear. Then came rusty, disdainful laughter. "Don't matter what ya look like, ya just gotta be a girl."
He carried her to the limo, threw her nearly limp form into the back, and climbed in after her, still laughing. Then the black car drove off quickly into the strengthening night.
The blonde woman stood rigid in front of her desk, fury plain on her face as she glared at the three men who knelt on the rich carpet before her. The glittering New York skyline shown brightly behind her in the darkness.
"What do you mean you lost him?" she ground out.
"Apologies, Madame Candra," the tall black man said with precise formality, his tone shaky with apprehension. "He seemed to know just where we were and exactly how to shake us. I can't explain it."
"Fools," she spat. "To let yourselves be outwitted by a mere thief!" For her plans to proceed, Essex needed to use the thief first. And he could not do so until her people had located him. Fury was a white fire inside of her.
They cringed away from her anger. She glanced between the three of them, her gaze passing over the spokesman to alight on the man on the end. He was sweating and trembling, wild eyes watching her like a trapped animal.
He was afraid of her. All of them were. And with good reason. A wave of satisfaction briefly calmed her rage, but it almost instantly resurged. Yet, this one was broken by his fear. And a fearful Assassin was useless. She stepped in front of him, glaring down at him as he prostrated himself with a sharp cry, pressing hands and forehead against the carpet.
"You understand that I cannot tolerate failure," she said softly as she gracefully sank into a crouch before him. "Our Guild cannot appear weak."
"No one knows, Madame…" the man began desperately, lifting his head slightly. Her hand snaked out and caught his rough chin, shutting his mouth with a hard snap. His eyes widened in helpless terror.
"Yes, too late. Tupper, isn't it?" she purred, her cold gaze trapping his. She felt him try to move, fail. Panic flared wildly in his eyes. But he was frozen, immobile. She held him in bonds of power far beyond any he could hope to break. She held him by the strength of her will.
She was a mutant. It was her special secret known only to the highest levels of the Guild. Her great power. To entrap, to hold, even to kill with a touch, if she so desired. A contact telekinetic. No one could resist her touch.
Her hand closed tighter on Tupper's jaw. Her power reached easily inside him. Found his heart.
No one could resist her strength.
Squeezed. Tupper's eyes bugged out, he gasped sharply, twisting futilely.
No one save Remy LeBeau.
Clenched hard and released. And with a broken cry, Tupper fell to the carpet, a trickle of blood leaking from his mouth. Eyes staring. Dead.
Candra looked down at the corpse at her feet, a surprisingly gentle smile on her face. Her fingertips trailed almost tenderly over Tupper's slack face. Closing his eyes. Then she looked up at the remaining two men, mouth firming into a frown. They watched her blankly, expressions carefully contained but still traces of fear shown in their eyes.
"Find LeBeau," she snapped. "And don't lose him again."
Remy LeBeau sat behind the wheel of a dark blue, safely anonymous, late-model sedan, fingers tapping the rim along to the song on the tinny radio as he slowly advanced through evening traffic.
After shaking the tail, he'd left his motorcycle in a long-term garage, ducked out and flagged a taxi. Just in case they'd planted a tracer on the bike. Taken the cab to a place near a subway station. Ridden that a few stations, then slipped off and taken another cab to a car rental lot in Queens. Certain, at last, that he'd fully lost whomever was following him.
There he'd rented the car he was currently driving using one of several cover identities. And now he was heading out of the city again.
North. He sighed deeply, raking one hand through his hair. No sense denying it. He was going to see her again.
Things were happening around him. Too much interest. Too many people involved. Gambit knew it was time to cut his losses and move on. It was a tried and true practice that had kept him alive and secure for many years now. Safe.
Safe, but lonely. And there was no telling when he would be free to return to New York again.
So he'd console himself by seeing his goddess one last time.
Ororo Monroe held up her hand, cautioning her team to silence, as she peered carefully around the corner of the changing rooms near the pool. The warm, bright summer night managed to conceal them from casual observation. Hastily stifled giggles came from the girls behind her. Her eyes narrowed in satisfaction as she spotted several boys – and Scott – crouched obliviously behind the long low outdoor storage box that held pool equipment.
She turned, her eyes dancing with merriment, and held up four fingers, then pointed toward the edge of the pool. The three girls nodded eagerly, readying their motley weaponry; water balloons, plastic pitchers of water and one precious water gun.
Ororo and two of the girls – Kitty and Jubilee – were dressed in tank tops and shorts, clothes damp in spots from prior skirmishes. Rogue, dressed in a body-covering leotard and a baggy shirt, gloves on her hands despite the heat, had suffered the most 'damage' – her streaked hair hung in wet tangles about her grinning face.
The water-war had evolved from an impromptu pillow fight that had erupted in the rec room when Rogue mistakenly bashed Logan over the head when he walked in, thinking he was St. John. Gasps of horror had raced through the room. Then, with a playful snarl, Logan had surprised them all by grabbing the smirking, unrepentant Rogue and tickling her mercilessly. After a brief moment of shock, shrieking chaos had ensued. Both girls and boys diving to Rogue's defense. Logan growling and wrestling them all. Finally, when it devolved to chases around the dining hall, Scott had ordered everyone outside. It was summer, for pity's sake, what were they doing inside? The kids obediently trooped out, Logan in the lead.
Where Ororo was waiting for them with the garden hose. She got Logan first, then Scott. Soaking them both thoroughly to the glee of the students before the men managed to wrestle the hose away from her. Then Logan, snarling in mock outrage, chased her laughing across the lawn, a horde of shouting teenagers following in their wake.
She'd breathlessly called time, to Logan's loud disgust, and haughtily proposed everyone adjourn to the house and prepare for battle. Shaking a large bag of balloons significantly as she did so.
Logan had agreed with a narrowed glare, shaking water out of his hair. Promising dire retribution. As they all returned, suitably attired, Scott showed up in shorts, goggles and devilish smirk bearing his own sack of water weapons which were quickly dispersed among the participants. Ororo passed out balloons. The war began; splitting, of course, by gender. Boys rallying behind Logan and Scott, the girls behind Ororo. Then quickly dividing into smaller groups as individual feuds erupted.
Water balloons flew. Hoses were deployed. Buckets dragged out of the shed. The kitchen raided for plastic ware. Soon, despite everyone's best efforts, Scott and his team of some of the younger boys decimated the ranks of their opponents under his expert direction.
But now, Ororo grinned in anticipation, they had them where they wanted them.
The girls were ready. Ororo gave the sign, and they raced around the corner, shouting in triumph as weapons deployed. Brightly colored balloons sailed with unerring accuracy, water flew in arcs from pitchers, streams shot from the single water gun. Scott was turning and he took a balloon square in the chest. Several more followed, soaking him. He surrendered with a rueful, laughing shout, hands in the air. The boys yelled and retaliated anyway. Water and balloons flew. Everyone scattered, laughter ringing through the night-shrouded grounds.
Ororo fled toward the garages, hair flying behind her like a banner, two boys armed with water balloons hot on her heels. They were slowly gaining on her until they were ambushed by another group of girls wielding more water balloons. She stopped at the far corner of the garage to watch, holding her side and gasping for air between joyful giggles as the boys fled off into the night, shrieking girls in hot pursuit.
"Not just a school, den," a low masculine voice said from the darkness behind her. "You making dis a home too."
She spun around, laughter instantly stilled, eyes wide. There had been something almost wistful about the words.
"Remy!" she cried.
He was leaning against a low fence nearby, dressed in sleek dark denim and silk. Expensive boots on his feet. His hair drawn back casually on his neck. Red-on-black eyes gleamed in the distant lights of the driveway. Elegant. Breathtaking. And here. She looked hastily down at herself, lips twisting ruefully as she scanned her own ragged attire. Damp red tank top and ancient, faded cut off shorts with loose strings that trailed down her thighs; her hair tangled wildly about her face. Not exactly how she'd wanted to look when next she saw him.
"I was… well, we were… playing," she said with a small shrug, feeling a flush heat her cheeks. "We like them to feel like children too, not just mutants everyone else is afraid to teach." His gaze locked on hers. And suddenly it didn't matter how she was dressed. Only that he was here again. Her blood pounded heavily in her throat.
"Looks like fun, chère," he said, a strange sadness in his eyes. But it was swiftly hidden by blazing heat as he slowly scanned her body. "Y' dressed for de occasion, I see."
Her nipples peaked under the thin cotton top. Heat flooded her body and she hastily folded her arms over her chest. A slow smile crossed his face. Knowing. Intimate. Almost wicked. She licked suddenly dry lips and his gaze locked on her mouth for a moment. She shuddered, feeling the intensity of his look almost like a touch.
"Would you like to join in?" she asked, her voice soft.
He moved then, coming toward her with all the slow deliberation she remembered. Shaking his head gently, eyes never leaving her. Her pulse jumped wildly, her breath caught in her throat.
"Not tonight, chère," he said huskily. "Tonight I came to see you."
A long, clever hand reached out and tugged her hand away from her arm, guiding it to his shoulder as he stepped smoothly against her. She looked up at him helplessly, other hand clutching automatically at his waist. Lips parting. Feeling his free arm slide easily around her back. Fitting her against him as if she belonged there in his arms.
"Did you? I'm glad you did," she managed to say, staring into the eyes that had haunted her dreams, both waking and sleeping. The world and the night faded away around them.
His was a lean strength. All grace and sleek muscle under the loose silk shirt, the casual jeans. Thighs hard against her own. She gasped, staring at him in mingled surprise and anticipation. Simultaneously dismayed by the suddenness of his reappearance, snared by the instant and inexplicable heat between them, and tormented by a fascination that drew her ever closer despite how little she knew of him. But she wanted to know more. Had to know more.
She slid her hand slowly out from under his, trailing it across the silk covering his strong chest to his throat. Where her fingertips lingered over a pulse that beat just as fast as her own.
He gave a soft groan, bending toward her. Her breath was coming in small, panting gasps as he neared, her gaze half-frightened. As if the world would change forever once his lips touched hers. He paused, gaze searching hers in gentle concern, his mouth hovering above her own.
"May I kiss you?" he asked softly. A sharp sound left her at the question, like a cry of need. Almost a sob. She was unable to speak, lost in his ruby gaze. Searching for something concrete to explain their connection, this inexplicable draw.
"Chère? Please?" The two soft words filled with need and desire. Longing. And for now it was enough that he felt the same way.
"Yes," she gasped. Then lifted herself slightly and pressed her mouth to his. He responded instantly, lips parting under the pressure of hers. Then firming, taking control. His mouth shaping hers, tongue tracing the soft inside. Drowning her in the damp heat, the spicy taste of him.
Her hand slid into his hair, pressing him closer. She felt the heat of him against her, his hard arms around her back, holding her close. Her breasts flattened against his chest, emphasizing their swollen ache. Mouths fused, melded. But gently, delicately. Searching, then finally parting. His tongue stroked her lip a last time as he slowly drew away, making her tremble and gasp.
Her eyelids felt weighted. She fought them open to look at him, to meet his own heavy gaze. To scan the sharp beauty of his face with something like recognition. Blood throbbing in her veins.
"Magnificent," he said.
A shaky sound left her; like a laugh, but more desperate. She realized that her hand was still clenched in his hair. She loosened her grasp, stroking gently down his neck as she watched him watch her. Her hand stilling against his chest, over the steady throb of his heart. A deep trembling began inside her, an ache and a heat brought on by his touch, his kiss, his presence.
"What is this between us?" she asked. His mouth twitched with rueful amusement.
"Don't know, chère," he said. The soft admission thrilling her. He felt it too. And fear rose briefly, was it just hormones? Or loneliness? Then her thoughts scrambled as he brought one hand around from her back, running it slowly up her arm, then up her neck to gently cup her jaw and her chin. Long clever fingers framing her face, thumb stroking the corner of her mouth.
She turned her head slightly, opening her mouth a little so his thumb brushed against her teeth. Her tongue darted out and tasted the saltiness of his skin. He groaned, gaze heating.
"Ah, chère," he breathed. "You're so beautiful. My wind goddess."
"Remy," she said. "Stay with me."
He stiffened slightly against her, a kind of wariness entering his expression. She sighed, knowing there was so much she didn't know about him. So much she should ask, should learn first. But she felt a strange sense of security as she looked at him. As if she'd known him forever and had been only waiting for him to appear. His red-on-black gaze searched hers for an endless moment, and she almost held her breath, feeling as if he were about to refuse. She pressed closer, hands sliding around his neck again and felt a loosening in him, a relaxation as he gave in to her touch.
"I can't stay long, chère," he said, eyes lowered. Relief flooded her. And she was lost in the need to touch him, longed to feel his mouth against hers again.
"You're here for now," she said, gaze searching his face, lips parted. Feeling reckless and abandoned. Yet knowing this was somehow right.
"Oui."
"Then come with me," she said, stepping away, holding his hand firm in her own. He followed hesitantly at first, almost as if he thought he shouldn't. But she tugged gently and he came, eyes hooded, lips curving sensuously
Smiling, she led him deeper into the woods, away from the mansion and the garage, into the seclusion of the warm night.
- - to be continued - -
