"Hey, kid," Logan said gently. Remy looked up from his bills.
"Bonjour, Logan." He was seated at his writing desk in the corner of his room. A candle glimmered on the top of it, casting a warm yellow light around the immediate area. Logan was used to the indirect lighting. Sometimes it was so low he wondered how the kid could see at all under normal conditions. Remy had one leg tucked under his knee. He twisted in his seat to look at Logan. He rested his chin on his arm.
"Yer gonna break yer spine doin' that someday. Wondered where ya ran off to this mornin'."
"Ain' like I ain't got dings t' do. Sometimes I dink Fearless believes heists don' need any kind of research."
"Bullshit, Gumbo. Why'd ya run off? Ya even managed to slip out without me hearin' ya."
"I'm a t'ief, homme. Dat's what t'ieves do," Remy said, rolling his eyes. He turned back to his correspondence. "An' how do credit cards manage t' get away wit' rates like dis? If'n dey were in de Guild we'd call dis protection money. It's against de rules!"
"Why doncha pay 'em off?" Logan asked.
"An' ruin m' cover as a po' lil' student? Non."
"Is that what yer tellin' the government?"
"Oui. What else? Need t' have somet'in' dat says I'm an upstandin' member of society. An' I'm livin' in a school. Best t' use it, oui?"
"True." Logan settled on Gambit's bed. It was the most comfortable spot in the room. "Nice diversion, but I'm askin' fer the truth this time, Cajun. Why'd ya run?"
"I don' like de wakin' up part," he said, not looking up. Logan growled softly. "I don'." Logan knew, just *knew* that the kid had arranged his lips into a pout, but he refused to fall for the con.
"I asked ya fer the truth," Logan said bluntly. Gambit's shoulders tensed as if he were under attack. Logan smiled ruefully. "Come on, Gumbo. Trust me. I ain't gonna let it go, ya know." He shook his head as the pen continued to scrabble over papers. Finally, Remy couldn't find anything else that needed to be done. Logan hadn't moved in something like two hours. He was going to have to face the man. On the plus side, he'd actually finished doing the business correspondence he'd been putting off for two weeks. Scott would be so proud. Maybe that's how Fearless got things done, he just had Logan stare at him until it was finished. Remy toyed with the fountain pen, then put it back into it's case. Logan moved finally. He snuffed out the candle on the desk. Remy looked up in surprise and met the calm blue eyes. "Ya answer me here or ya answer me out there. Yer choice." Remy sighed.
"De roof," he said. Logan nodded. He gestured for the younger man to go before him. Gambit glared, but grabbed his coat, shades, and a new pack of cigarettes. He slipped up the stairs past Storm's loft. Luckily she was in the garden, preparing it for the first frost. Remy took his usual place and stared out over the grounds as he lit his cigarette. "Listen, homme. Dis just ain't somet'in' permanent. Y' know dat. Dey'll get bored, even if y' don'. Dey'll get older an' it won' be fun anymore, so dey'll call de whole game off."
"Bullshit."
"Logan."
"Kid. Ya know I love ya." Remy scuffed at the roofing shingles. He didn't answer for a long moment.
"Oui," he whispered finally.
"Do ya trust me?"
"More'n anyone I know," he told the older man.
"Do ya trust Cyke?"
"He can keep a secret."
"That ain't what I asked." Remy sighed. He shook his head. "Jeannie?"
"Non."
"Rogue?" Remy shook his head. "Storm?"
"Wit' some dings. She jus' ain' comfortable wit' m' keepin' m' hand in dings. Keepin' m' rep up. But she trusts m' t' de ends of de eart'. More'n anyone's ever trusted dis po' boy. Even *you*, cher." Logan nodded ruefully.
"Yeah, well, I found out I was wrong. Besides, I ain't been that mistrustful since that first week. All I knew then was that ya were a thief that took a little girl on jobs with him. Then, ya started fightin' with us. I ain't too fond of the past, Kid." Logan decided to press his luck. He laid his hand on the younger man's knee. Remy put his hand over it gently. He didn't look at the Canadian. "Can ya try to trust Scott and Jean not to throw ya away?" Gambit took a long drag of smoke. He exhaled slowly.
"I ain't gonna promise y' anyt'in', Logan," he said finally. "I been thrown away once too many times. My heart ain't gonna handle another go round." Logan nodded.
"I ain't gonna throw ya away, Darlin'," he promised. Remy didn't say anything. "Well at least ya've stopped claimin' ya ain't my darlin'." Remy dipped his head to hide his smile.
"So, how y' goin' t' tell Jubilee 'bout all dis?" he asked, jumping topics.
******
"Alright. Alright. I give in. Just tell me whatever's got you sulking like Rogue on a bad hair day," Scott snapped finally at his wife.
"Remy." Scott pinched the bridge of his nose.
"To shamelessly steal Jubilee's line, 'like, Duh.' What part of it? The fact that you keep miscalculating the strength of mind-numbing sex as a leash? Or the fact that I've been right and you've been wrong about how he's going to react?"
"Knock off the smug act, Slim," Jean threatened putting a hand to her temple as if preparing a psi-bolt.
"Smug? Moi? Non, chere," Scott mimicked. Jean blinked. "Come on, Jean. I don't need to be a psychic or a shrink or a spook, to know that you're worried about him. And it's something that you don't think you can tell me without permission. Yes, yes, I definitely see hints of the professor's ethics lecture creeping up on your face now. Let's see. It has something to do with how he got some of those scars. And something to do with Sinister. Either one of which you think is going to set me off in a negative way either on him or the world. You're sick of hearing those rants so you don't want to chance it." He frowned and leaned close as if studying her face. "Yes, there it is, the Scott's being a pain in the ass again line." He traced the frown line in her forehead. "And now we get to the, damn, he's right, and I'm not going to admit to it part. Let's see if I can make a few educated guesses about our pet thief."
"Fine. Let's see you try." Jean leaned back in her chair with her arms across her chest.
"First off, now I know that he's adopted, he was *definitely* on the streets. Therefore, we've got abuse issues. Gee golly willickers, who'd have thought. Second, he ended up turning to Sinister for help. Let's see, that means he's estranged with his fosters, er… the LeBeau's I assume. His powers hurt someone and he feels too guilty about it to tell anyone. And he's done something a hell of a lot worse than break into some facility or other or kill one person. I don't know how many people he took out when his powers appeared, but I'm sure that a few of those scars are from his own powers." Jean sighed.
"I didn't look. I only looked at the Sinister part of his memories. He was so damn scared that I was going to run across something he wasn't allowed to tell me that he wouldn't have let me see anything else."
"Allowed?" Scott asked, settling on the couch next to his wife.
"That's what he said," she shrugged. "He wasn't even sure about letting me see his mindscape without a blood oath. I know enough to know that two of the most traumatic incidents in his life are right before he met Sinister and right before he left him. I know he's completely confused about what he even feels about that bastard. Sinister was comfortable for him."
"Comfortable?" Scott nearly squeaked. "Sinister? Christ. He is fucked up isn't he?"
"He's got the screaming, gibbering, terror and pain of hundreds of people swarming around his mind. He's got so much pain that isn't his in there that he can't feel good. And his shields are so fucking tight that he can't let any of it out. He's the only person I know with *traps* in their mindscape, just in case a 'path happens to get past his first two layers of shields."
"Three layers of shields? He has three layers?"
"More, I think, but they're arranged in three general levels. And the last level isn't even recognizable as a shield. I wouldn't have known except for the fact that he kept warning me about his traps. And they call to me."
"Who?"
"The traps. I want to know what they'll do, but I’m scared that they might actually be as deadly as they seem to be."
******
Wolverine was stalking his prey through the Mansion after lunch. The sounds of everyday life made it difficult to use his hearing. His nose twitched as he caught the familiar scent. There! He had him. He tensed and leapt. Gambit dodged back and under the lunge. He sprinted for the door. He needed space.
Bobby jumped out of the way, saving his juice. He stayed out of the flight path, sure that Wolverine was following. He was right. Logan barreled past into the backyard. He paused to catch the scent. A movement caught his attention and he was off. He caught the thief around the waist and spun him so that he could be pinned to the wall.
Remy struggled against Logan's grip. The knee that separated his legs was hot compared to the fall air. The Canadian's hands were firm until the struggling ceased. Remy pouted. "Y' let m' go now?" he asked, hopefully.
"Never." Logan growled.
"Remy'll do whatever y' want, M. Make y' feel so good," he purred into Logan's ear. Logan chuckled.
"Maybe I just like watchin' ya squirm." Logan folded Gambit's arms across his chest and pinned them there. Despite the fine layers of muscle, Gambit was slender. His wrists were delicate under the thick fingers that pinned them. He fought the new grip.
"Please?" Remy said with puppy dog eyes. They didn't work. He felt Logan's cock against his hip. Logan released one hand and Remy stroked through his "captor's" thick brown hair. Logan fastened a blue cat collar around the still trapped wrist. There was a small, high-pitched bell on it, and a fish shaped tag.
"Quoi?" Remy asked, brows drawn down into a vee.
Logan kissed the thief's palm and folded the long fingers around it. He stepped back. Red eyes blinked at him in surprise. He grinned and wandered back to the kitchen. Gambit opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't figure out what. He stood up straight and studied the little tag. "If found please call the Summers." It gave the boathouse extension. He snickered. He jingled the little bell. He loved a challenge. He went to find Storm.
*****
//You are insane,// Betsy told Jean. //You do *not* want his shields snapping at you.//
//I just want to see how they were created. I don't know telepaths with shields that complex.//
//I never got past the parlor. The headache was incredible.//
//He showed my your mark on the door.//
//?//
//It's as if he never fixed the damage you did to his shields. There was a mark on the door to the outside of that room.//
//But other than that it was in order?//
//Yes. Very Victorian actually.//
//Well, he's repaired the damage Rogue did then. It looked like a whirlwind had torn through it// Betsy registered Jean's surprise. //The furniture was overturned, the books scattered, and the desk looted. It was so dark and cold that I didn't believe he would ever wake up from it.//
//It's in order now. The only oddities are the padlock on the door and the scarred wood. It looks like a knife cut.//
//I didn't realize I'd hurt him badly enough to scar him.//
//But you knew your touch hurt?//
//Yes. It was a raw channel.//
//I supposed I should have suspected that. Thanks, Bets.//
//You're welcome.//
*****
"Bon jour, Stormy. Y' need help?" Remy asked her gazing around the nearly winterized garden.
"You could take these things to the composter. And then, you can clean off the tools," she informed him. Her eyes were twinkling. "And do not call me Stormy."
"Oui, petite." She smiled at him.
"Are you sure that you will be warm enough?" She asked, realizing that he wasn't wearing his coat.
"Mon petite Ororo, she keep her Remy warm, non?" She shook her head and called warm winds to surround her brother. She focused on her plants. She found her attention caught by an odd sound. She could have sworn that she heard a bell. She discounted it. Perhaps it was merely one of the windchimes being knocked askew by Remy's movements. He was humming under his breath. She smiled and relaxed into the ease of working with him. He was a good partner in the garden, so long as you didn't have him doing the weeding. He had a tendency to pull up her flowers with startling regularity. He always looked guilty when he did, but he just didn't have the eye to tell one green stem from another. He was good for the plain physical labor. And in the summer he could be occasionally convinced to take off his shirt. But only around her. The bell rang again. This time she couldn't discount it.
"Brother?"
"Oui?"
"Do you hear a bell?" He cocked his head to the side.
"Now?"
"No, it's not ringing now. But it was a moment ago." Her cat eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You heard it then?" He winked. He held out his wrist for inspection and jingled the little silver bell. She laughed and shook her head. "You are the only person I can think of that would make that into a fashion statement."
"Dat's because y' only know a small group, chere. Y' need t' go out more," he chided her. "How y' goin' t' meet de right homme hidin' y'self away in dese enchantin' gardens? Dere's plenty of nice places t' go. Y' could visit de Botanical Gardens, or even join a club or somet'in', 'tite. Give a normal life a try."
"Remy," she said, looking down her nose at him. "Do not start with that again. I am not going to be a part of any club where they tell me what to do… Other than this one of course."
"Least y' don' have t' pay dues," Remy grinned. "De tools are cleaned. Anyt'in' else?"
"Yes, the greenhouse needs to be neatened."
"Oui, 'tite. Remy'll do y' chores f' y'. Y' just remember dat when he asks y' for somet'in'."
*****
Scott was reading the paper in the den when Remy decided he wanted attention. He flopped down on the couch and settled his head in Scott's lap. He played with the impromptu bracelet that Logan had put oh him. Scott continued to read until his curiosity got the better of him. "What the Hell are you playing with?"
"De bell." He held up his wrist for inspection. Scott caught the collar with a finger.
"Cute. When'd you start wearing this?" Remy grinned.
"'Bout t'ree or four hours ago. Logan put it on. I ain't taken it off yet. De bell drives Warren crazy."
"That's a good reason to keep it on right there."
"Oui." Scott tugged on the collar, a thoughtful smile on his face. Gambit's eyes narrowed. "Whatever y' dinkin', de answer's non."
"Come on. Trust me," Scott said, setting the paper aside. Remy shook his head stubbornly. "You don't trust me, but you'll trust Mr. Drop-Everything-And-Go-Searching-For-My-Past?" Scott smoothed the younger man's hair back from his face.
"Oui," Remy said seriously. He tried to pull his hand back, but Scott's grip was firm.
"Why?" Gambit looked away from Cyclops' face.
"He's… open."
"What does that mean?" Scott's frown was thoughtful.
"He *feels* dings so strong. An' he don' lock dem away. He ain't numb."
"In other words, my shields are too strong and you can't read me?"
"Non. Not dat exactly. Y'r emotions are… muddled? Y' don' feel one ding. Y' get angry an' y' feel guilty an' sad too. It gets t' be too much t' sort out." He tugged against the collar gently and Cyke let him go. Remy played with the bell. Scott continued to pet his hair.
"You're not the only one confused," Scott informed him. Emotions aren't simple."
"Dey are f' some people. Leastways, dey feel what dey feel strong. An' free. Logan, Roguie, and Jubes, dey ain't got as many feelin's at once. Even mon petite Stormy's emotions get confused." Scott rested his free hand on Remy's abdomen.
"You're wearing gloves again," Scott said after a long pause. Remy's eyes flicked up to Scott's face again.
"Oui?"
"Why?" Scott asked. Remy shifted uncomfortably. "Well?"
"Used t' burn people," he said softly. "Merde, couldn' touch f' years. M' gloves made it more possible. Still couldn't touch much, exceptin' M. Essex an' M. Chatton. Wit' de healin' it weren't a problem f' dem."
"Did you ever tell her?"
"Non. She wouldn' understand. Couldn' tell her wit'out tellin' her how I can do it now. An' she'd never have loved m' den."
"She was raised by Mystique."
"An' her friends got hurt by *Dem*."
"Not everyone is irrational."
"Non, just ma chere." Remy spun the collar around his wrist.
"What does Jean want to tell me, but won't?" Remy sighed.
"Details about m' time wit' Essex."
"And will *you* tell me?"
"Non, I don' dink so."
"Will you let her tell me?" Remy stared at the red crystal and the glow that was Scott's power for a long moment. He reached up and ran his finger along the edge of the glasses.
"Oui," he whispered. Scott carefully kissed his fingers and pressed them to Remy's lips.
"Whatever scared you, we'll deal with it." He traced his fingers over the dark bruises on his lover's throat. "You aren't alone, Remy."
*****
Logan was in his room. He was concentrating on locating a single sound in the Mansion. He zeroed in on the quiet tickle of the little bell and tracked Remy's movements through the house. He smiled to himself. Despite the impression to the contrary, Remy was easy to please. The collar obviously amused him. By the sound of things, he was making sure it sounded at every possible opportunity. A nameless worry eased off of Logan's shoulders. He got up.
He tracked Remy to the library. He was reading the weekly art updates he seemed to memorize almost instantly. He lay on his stomach, hands folded under his chin except to turn pages, and his trenchcoat spread out over the carpet. He must have run into town. "Bonjour, Ole Man."
"Hey, Kid," Logan replied. "Ya plannin' on goin' out tonight?"
"Oui. Charles gave m' a shoppin' list." Logan blinked. The thief had never told him when he was going out on an assignment as opposed to partying.
"Come to the boathouse when yer done."
"If'n ya wake up dere so often, why ya ain't moved out dere?"
"I was keepin' an eye on ya, Gumbo. Figure we'll get yer stuff and mine out there as soon as Jeannie's done redecoratin' the kitchen. No sense in gettin' under foot."
"Ingrate," Scott commented from the doorway, "making me suffer alone. Gambit, I need to talk to you. My office in twenty?"
"Oui, Cyke." Scott left. "Merde. Must be in trouble again."
"Naw. Slim probably wants to kiss ya fer good luck." Remy snickered. "Why doncha come sit up here with me while ya read?"
"Non. Y' come down here wit' Remy. Relive yer yout'."
"Brat," Logan said, sitting on the floor and letting Remy settle across his lap. He stoked Remy's spine.
*****
Remy dropped the data discs into the professor's drawer and the documents into Scott's file cabinet, then crept back to his room. He was surprised to find Jean waiting for him. He blinked at her stupidly. "Dis is gettin' t' be a habit, chere."
"And you've been avoiding me." She was startled when he dropped his tools into the back of the closet. She hadn't seen the bag.
"I been busy." Jean sighed.
"I'm here to make sure you remember to check in with Mother Logan."
"Merde. A lil sex an' now de man' dinks he owns m'." Jean shook her head with a smile.
"No, he and Scott always wait up for you to come home. Now Logan's just willing to tell you." She snickered at his raised brows. "So get your things for the morning. I'm not letting you sneak out again." He kissed her once, hard, before throwing together a bag.
*****
Logan grinned when he noticed the collar was still on Remy's wrist. Remy's eyes were flashing with an almost drunken ferocity. He devoured Wolverine's mouth with harsh kisses. The Canadian managed to pin the younger man's wrists behind him, shocked by his aggressiveness. Cock brushed cock and Remy arched closer. Jean licked her lips. Remy broke Logan's grip and controlled the older man's head with both hands. Logan lifted Remy easily and took him up to the bedroom.
Scott felt the wave of lust and euphoria wash over him and bleed through his shields. His pupils dilated and there was a flash of red through his sleeping goggles. Remy was already stripping Logan down. Scott watched Jean pull off the simple dress she'd thrown on to wait for the thief. Jean pulled at Remy's coat. She shook her head when he shook her off. Logan's hands were buried in Remy's hair now. He pulled back and Remy's fingers clenched harder on Logan's head. He was panting slightly.
"Either ya take 'em off or I cut 'em off, Darlin'," Wolverine growled. Remy snarled and stripped with no wasted effort and returned to the kiss that bordered on violent. Logan fought to take control of the kiss, but failed. The thief refused to be passive tonight. He urged Logan towards the bed.
Meanwhile, Jean was being thoroughly kissed by her husband. Scott was more than ready to plunge into her body once more. The sight of Logan being practically manhandled by the Cajun had forced his arousal to the near fever that made him mark his lovers. Jean rolled the condom onto his hard length, then laid back as he suckled her breasts. She had a good idea of what would happen.
Without more than a glance, she knew that she wasn't the only one thinking it. Scott was seated firmly in her and she held him to her by force. Scott was already prepared physically by their earlier romps, but he was surprised to feel Logan in him once more. Logan held still to let Cyclops adjust, then moved back to impale himself fully on Remy's erection. Jean let Scott move and they found their rhythm almost immediately. The combined weight of all three men drove each stroked deeper into Jean's slip. Scott was aware of little more than the moist warmth around his cock and the solid intruder in his ass. Logan's teeth grazed Scott's shoulder. Logan's thrusts were deeper and harsher than usual, but not painfully so. It was more a matter of claiming than anything else. Logan rocked mindlessly between the familiar pleasure of Scott's tightly spasming ass and the new feel of Remy's cock filling and emptying him.
Scott came first, his muscles clenching hard around Logan and drawing him along. Jean came as Remy thrust deep into Logan's constricted channel and thereby driving Scott deep into her. Remy came, overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure of having Logan wrapped around him and his lovers' orgasms battering through his shields.
A few minutes later, when consciousness clawed up through pleasure sapped synapses, Gambit realized that Scott and Jean had passed out. He snickered and Logan grinned at him. He had cleaned them all up because his faster recovery time. He tugged at the collar Remy still wore on his wrist, now sans bell. He quirked a brow.
"Couldn' keep it quiet," Remy told him. He shrugged. "Didn' want t' take it off. Weren' so sure y'd approve. Y' did win after all." Logan chuckled.
"Let's say a week. And put the bell back on, except fer jobs." He kissed the bruise he'd left gently. "I'll be huntin'," he growled. Remy smiled.
"Goin' t' have t' learn t' keep it quiet den." He stroked the velvet of Logan's once again stiff cock. "Dis f' Remy?"
"If he's a good boy."
"Remy can be real good, M." He arched into Logan's stroking hands. Logan's eyes glittered with amusement.
"I was hopin' ya'd see it that way." He arranged the thief's hands over his head. "Stay," he whispered. Logan kissed him softly, sweetly. He backed off, leaving Remy wanting more. He prepared the thief slowly, watching the cock spring to attention. He kissed gently down the center of the younger man's chest. He lapped along the sharply defined rib cage as Remy fucked himself on Logan's fingers. Remy chewed his lip, trying to stay quiet. Then, Logan was in him and he couldn't restrain a moan. Logan kissed him gently in the hollow of his neck, then surged home, and then out. He moved slowly as Remy tried in vain to speed him up. No curse, promise of plea could change his pace. Logan tracked the changes in scent and skin color as sweat trickled down Remy's chest and blood pounded through his veins.
"Sil vous plait, Logan. Gonna come soon. Please, cher, more," Gambit begged. Wolverine's blunt fingers settled on his waist and he pistoned in and out at a frantic pace. Gambit's eyes closed and his body tensed into an almost arch, restricted by Logan's hands. Semen splattered his stomach as Logan's seed filled him. Exhausted, Remy collapsed back into the bed. He snuggled close to Scott and Jean's bodies, seeking to share warmth. With a smile, Logan spooned close behind him and laid an arm over his hips to stroke the small of Scott's back as he fell to sleep.
FINIS