Title: Heal thyself

Author: O (Ethe webmistress will forward all feedback: Starliner00@gmx.net)

Rating: NC-17

Pairing/main characters: Beast/Gambit

Series/Sequel: complete

Summary: Slash. Remy and Hank healing each other.

Disclaimer: All belong to Marvel, no infringement intended nor profit made. Thanks to Liz for beta-reading ...

Archive/distribution: Yes, ask first please.

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Heal thyself

By O

 

Henry McCoy heard the throaty grumble of LeBeau's motorcycle, saw the headlight sweep across the side of the building toward the garage as he filled his coffee carafe in the mansion's kitchen. That it was 3:00 a.m. was not unusual - in fact, the Cajun was home early - but the rough sputter of the engine Gambit kept at a healthy purr was.

He didn't think more of it as he walked through the somnolent corridors of the mansion with his head down in deep unhappy thought, irritation chaffing at him until he felt like he was all rough edges and a constant urge to bite. His work was not going well, he kept running into blind ends, the advances came in increments too small to hearten him while mutants, friends and innocents, were dying. And now, with Cecelia gone, he worked entirely alone again. Was entirely alone, even in this house filled with people he knew to be his friends.

It was an accepted jest that he spent so much time in his lab, that he slept so little, ate only when someone reminded him or brought it to him, and no one had noticed these habits had become joyless after Cecelia's abrupt departure. Indeed, as he sat down with a heavy sigh and set his spectacles onto his forehead to peer into the focal appeture of his microscope, he realized he could not remember when he had last had a conversation with anyone, when last he had done anything other than work. When he had last smiled and not felt the deep sharp itch of restlessness. He doubted she would return, secrets of her own and a rebuff of exquisite finality; no matter his mutant capacities, he was a man after all, not immune to loneliness or resentment of the oblivious people around him who suffered their own torments and crises. Not immune to depression. That he understood that, too, the clinical physiologic ramifications, was of no help either; he could not work medicated and there was nothing to do for it but work, wring the most positive result he could from whatever time he was doomed to feel this way.

It took several minutes before he realized someone was behind him and he turned, as surprised not to have noticed sooner as he was to see Gambit's tall narrow shadow hovering in the doorway. The light limned the uneasy slant of wide-boned shoulders, hands jammed deep and close in the pockets of his ubiquitous leather duster as he leaned against the jamb. Henry could not see his face but for glowing eyes in the glossy shadows of that fine auburn mane, effortlessly elegant in silhouette. A man who drew lovers and good times like moths to flame yet remained eternally unsatisfied by that plenty. Contrary and fey and an enduring mystery Henry had given up on unraveling.

Henry couldn't fault the uneasiness of his approach. Nearly perishing in the Antarctic had not earned him any forgiveness among his team-mates, even Henry had some difficulty reconciling such carelessness - intentional or not - with the lives of so many innocents. HHe was neither welcoming nor hostile.

"Gambit?"

Endless questions in that one edged word because Gambit never came to the MedLab on his own. Full to the top with secrets and nightmares, but today Henry didn't have a shred of patience much less sympathy.

Gambit said nothing, only stood there uncertainly, as if he could feel Beast's irritation in the air.

"Is there something you need?" Henry prodded impatiently, and a rasping laugh surprised him as Gambit's head came up, eyes refracting the light cat-like in the gloom at that end of the chamber. He shook his head with a soft breath and turned to go with one of those carelessly eloquent Acadian shrugs that said nothing and everything at the same time.

"Non... jus' sayin' 'allo, hehn?"

Just saying hello? When had that ever happened? What was he up to? Henry watched his departing back, massive blue-furred head canted to one side and eyebrows raised. Was the Acadian limping? He shook his head with a snort, having no palliative for the aches of his own soul much less the gaping wounds of LeBeau's. Doctor McCoy went back to all he could offer of hope.

The cells didn't die, there was no apoptosis, no expected end to the unending cycles of human cells, even malignancies followed this course no matter how aberrantly paced or replicated. Cells were born, lived, died and were replaced. But not the Legacy Virus. It did not die. It was born, lived, and accumulated into a critical mass nothing ameliorated. Powerful molars ground heavily as he went meticulously though slide after slide, the pipette snicking quietly in the silence as he siphoned up precisely calibrated amounts of a wide array of compounds from a rack of snap-top vials on dry ice beside him. Nothing. Pipette tips ejected with a tinny ring. Nothing. Perhaps after a longer exposure, but by now he hardly expected... he was interrupted again by a light on the intercom on the wall and noted with a near growl on one short breath that it was the Cajun's suite.

He thumbed the com open with exasperated ferocity: "Gambit? What is it?"

"Ummm... 'enri..." An irritatingly long pause, and just as Henry was about to disconnect impatiently: "Took a spill t'night, me, n' maybe Gambit hurt li'l more n' e' t'ought..."

"Is that why you were here earlier?"

"Oui ... " A rasping breath of a laugh. "Gambit couldn't make 'is feet come 'cross d'threshold ..."

Henri blew a long breath out, unwilling to be turned from his work or expend the acres of patience and cajolery that would be required to get Gambit into the MedLab, their thief had been known to go to preposterous lengths to avoid it. Healed wonderfully fast, didn't scar for some reason he hadn't let Henry investigate, yet even for routine things he came and went in a suppressed near-panic. Henry's molars cracked again, not anticipating that level of anxiety with any degree of pleasure at all. The fact remained, however, that Gambit rarely asked for help, and that, in combination with the slightly breathless voice, said he must have hurt himself fairly badly.

"Y'up f'a house call, homme?"

Irritation at the imposition flared. "Gambit, I don't know what I'll need, I haven't the time nor indeed the inclination to indulge your phobias, come down..."

"Henri... " A wobble in the voice, a breathless groan. Then silence.

Huge blue-furred shoulders fell under the white lab coat as his great lungs filled and slowly emptied. Henry could no more deny medical need than he could stop breathing, and everyone in this house knew it.

"Gambit? Are you alright? Gambit?"

Nothing.

Henry's breath exploded on a biologically impossible curse and he stabbed at the keyboard to save his data file, grumbling darkly about the lack of consideration, the folly of being both nurse and researcher. He placed the slides in an incubator in case some delayed response might develop on one of them and returned the vials to a nitrogen tank before banging together a tray with bandages, suture kits, gauze, antiseptics, whatever he might need to patch Gambit up without knowing what was wrong. He took no anesthetics of any kind, and more from spite than because Gambit's reactions to them changed from time to time.

Gambit was sitting on the floor under the intercom, back curved into the wall and arms dangling across his jacked up knees. For some reason his socks and best boots were tossed haphazardly nearby. He looked up with a crooked grin when Henry approached, more than half-drunk and charmingly unkempt. Almost immediately Henry was awash in guilty sympathy and a low-grade lust that no longer disconcerted him - Gambit's empathic power was doing that slow burn only alcohol or serious injury unleashed, like fireflies on his skin, sparks in his blood, seducing... Henry steeled himself with a near snarl. He didn't believe Gambit was cognizant of the fact that this particular manifestation of that persuasive power was a biologic response to extremity, a defense mechanism that compelled whoever was nearest to his aid. Henry had yet to determine its full nature, only learned to resist its influence. Which tonight was fairly considerable.

McCoy snorted and shook it off, took a deep breath and a moment to let his eyes adjust to the low level of Gambit's ambient lighting, looking to see which of the art-work had changed. Henry had an educated eye to art and antiquities and had noticed that a fine collection had passed through this handsome bedroom suite in the last year. Some had remained only a few months, others seemed part of LeBeau's private collection - knock-offs, the Cajun said with a crocodile grin when Henry once asked, and never a piece Henry could prove for stolen, but forgeries they were not.

Gambit was watching him with a crookedly bland smile and the doctor reached down a mighty blue arm, which Gambit used to pull himself to his feet with damaged care. Didn't use his right arm and Henry smelled blood, although not too fresh. He let him go when the Cajun had steadied his knees, as easily from inebriation as injury since he reeked of alcohol; anathema to a doctor's respect for the body's health, Gambit abused his without appreciating the blessing of genetics it was. Handsome and sleek as a greyhound, so wickedly beautiful he couldn't walk through a room without luring eyes after him. As much as art, beauty was something Henry appreciated, and LeBeau was without a doubt the most emphatically beautiful man - Henry sneezed, hard.

"Um .. alright, now, Mr. LeBeau, what have you done to yourself that interrupts my work?" In a tone filled with frustrated impatience and something closer to anger that narrowed Remy's embered eyes for a heartbeat, as if considering the roughness of Beast's appearance. For a moment he seemed almost lucid, but then grinned crookedly and chuckled, a deep throaty sound that seemed to insinuate itself like a caress into McCoy's ears.

"Took a spill on d'bike, me. Nasty moment 'dere." McCoy set the tray down on a mahogany bombadier chest with inlaid drawers beside the draped tester bed, Gambit following him slowly. When the doctor made a turning motion with his finger, Gambit turned and let him reach for the shoulders of his duster, the right side pretty much destroyed, moving gingerly but helping as much as he could to get it off.

"Heh... wounded m'credit card f'dese pants... Well, Warren's credit card, but 'dat's nit-pickin'." Henry didn't see the expensive trousers as he bent to scrutinize the scrape under the tattered gaberdine that went from hip to knee.

"Ow, Ow... Sapriste, lemme get it unbuttoned ..." He hissed as Henry tugged on the tattered and bloody ruins of a teal blue jacquard vest, and then he went after the white dress shirt beneath without noticing that the fine cloth came off Gambit's skin with a reluctantly sticky pull. LeBeau twitched hard away. "Merde, Bete, ce maux, 'dat -urts-, homme!" Half-focused surprise in his expression at the rough handling, usually McCoy was kind to a fault. Henry didn't look up, but he closed his eyes for a moment and took a hissing breath, feeling rubbed altogether the wrong way but striving mightily for civility.

"Yes, I imagine this does lend itself to some degree of discomfort, now be still." It was the best he could do, he felt chaffed inside and out. With his huge right hand he began to pick pieces of shirt out of Gambit's skin with deliberate delicacy, the left settled with authoritative determination on the nape of the Cajun's neck to hold him in place. The point of Gambit's pelvic girdle was also badly scraped on the right, and the intercostal spaces between the arching reach of his ribs were highlighted as stripes of undamaged skin. Lovely color, that skin. So smooth it looked like it had no pores, made the hand want to touch...

"I would hazard to say you were proceeding at a precipitous pace to have skimmed the asphalt as you apparently did ..."

"Sans de 'conner (no shit), Gambit was -movin'-..." The houndish torso twisted, silken ribbons of auburn hair sliding across Henry's knuckles as Gambit turned to look at him with a cat-like grin. "Like flyin', Henri." Hands half-reaching after handlebars and throttle: "Feelin' d'worl' slip by und'yer ass, interestin' sort of connection, hehn?"

Henry's eyebrows flexed hard at the odd analogy, but he surprised himself with a chuff of dry laughter to see Gambit's vibrant grin out of the corner of his eye. Bloody as a hamburger and grinning at what had done it to him, the man was mad as a hatter.

"You are aware that the unholy glee you take in tempting death approaches psychosis, particularly for someone with such hedonistic appetites."

"Nah..." An expressively dismissive sound, "'De spill only one bad moment out 'f a lot of rippin' good - wort' it, bet me." Moving under Henry's hands with a skittish fluidity that warned of slipping away entirely and Henry's fingers tightened.

"Hold still, please, I'm encountering some difficulty ..." And for a moment Gambit did, then he wobbled and objected to Henry's bruising grip.

"E'tourdi... lil' dizzy, homme..."

"That leaves me a plethora of sarcastic replies. Lean, then." Henry took him backwards until his hips met the top of the chest, and Gambit sought the edge with the heels of his hands breathing so purposefully that Henry understood he was either trying not to pass out or not to puke. He steadied him and gave him a moment, neither wanting him unconscious nor vomiting. Wanting to get this done and get back to work. Unconsciously, his huge blue hand whispered up and down Gambit's long back soothingly, a very pleasant sensation, the skin cool and smooth.

"Alright?" An eventual nod, a shaky breath from both. "Let go here." Taking Gambit's right wrist so he had to take his weight off it and removing the heavy gold cufflink - expensive and elegantly simple - sliding the bloody shreds of the french-cuffed sleeve down and off with his patient hissing and twitching the whole way.
"Bete, leggo my neck, homme, Gambit ain' a cat t'be holdin' by 'is scruff, eh?"

"You forget I'm the vet, Gambit, I happen to know this particular restraint is most effective with my most annoying patients..." Huge fingers tightening against the fine shape of the back of Gambit's skull to prove the point. "Up," Henry prodded, and Gambit obediently lifted the injured arm, not without trouble, as Henry went down on one knee to have a close look at the impressive length of the road burn. Gambit was nearly 6'2", yet Henry could keep the hand on his nape even kneeling, grabbing the undamaged hip and turning Gambit's body by that massive grip as if he was, indeed, a vet looking over a cat. As well as his side, the back of his arm from elbow to shoulder and a narrowing skid-mark around his upper back was abraded raw to varying depths. Must smart like the devil... but Gambit had taken worse than this without a peep. He scowled up at him.

"Gambit, why did you call me for this?" Blue eyes direct and probing, impatience rimmed in real anger, "Usually you'd have just taken a shower and patched yourself up."

Gambit looked theatrically aggrieved to have his injuries minimized, but rolled his left shoulder with a calculating glance.

"Couldn't reach. Feh, got light-headed, y'know, li'l too drunk." A charming twist of a smile as his fingertips measuring a tiny space that Henry knew should be much wider. Something other in the depths of his eyes gave Henry's irritation pause. He hadn't seen Gambit for awhile and was vaguely surprised to see the haunted shadows in his eyes.

"Wan' some comp'ny, mebbe," Gambit admitted. "T'ought you could use some too, ain' seen y'f'days. Gambit don' wanna be in MedLab, it'd be a good 'ting t'getcha outta 'dere awhile y'self 'fore all 'dis -really- nice fur starts moldin' or somet'in. Man, it feel really nice." A languid stroke across the wide muscled yoke of shoulder under his open lab coat, smoothing that fur appreciatively with a coaxing grin. "C'mon, Henri - y'here anyway."

Henry just looked at him, conflicted between getting up right then and leaving with a scathing diatribe on the value of his time and an oddly prickly gratitude that someone actually wanted his company, selfishly or not.

"Well," he said finally, deflating gruffly. "Self-abuse is a rather extreme method to acquire companionship, Gambit."

"Ha! You t'ink Gambit did 'dis on purpose? Like ya, Henri, but don' like nobody -'dat- much! Just killin' two birds wit'one dump of d'bike, y'know?"

A pragmatic thoughtfulness, but thoughtful just the same in an offhand sort of way, and Henry went back to work with a shake of his massive head. "You're certifiable, LeBeau." Which Gambit accepted without insult.

It took ten minutes with forceps and a pen-light in his teeth to pick the remaining bits of shirt from the lengthy scrape, and for those ten minutes the Cajun was utterly quiet. Henry could feel the intent focus of his eyes, though, and noted the whitened knuckles of the far hand. As well as the elegantly subtle movement of fingertips in the fur at the base of his neck where he'd set Gambit's right hand out of his way. It had its effect, intended or accidental.

Henry's annoyed glance was met with a broad bland smile, so innocent it reeked of deviltry. That feeling of fireflies skittered under his skin again.

"Nev' knew it was so soft." Murmured almost to himself, watching his own hand spidering into the dark blue pelt at the nape of Henry's neck and finding warm skin beneath. Henry realized Gambit was unconsciously distracting himself from pain in tactile pleasure, and the thought of what sort of anesthetics he'd demand if he were made aware of that called up a bark of truly amused laughter. He dismissed Gambit's curious glance over it with a wave of his hand and let the Cajun touch him as he would, he was a doctor, he could handle it, and had more times than he could recount!

"Come on, now, get these trousers off so I can look at your leg." Turning away to deposit the bits of shirt and soiled gauze onto the tray and soak a clean square in hydrogen peroxide. He heard a rustle, a grunt, and the sound of the chest rocking back into the wall, and when he turned Gambit's hands were back on the edge of the dresser, legs visibly unsteady and his grin lopsidedly apologetic. He'd managed to get the waist undone, but the pants were presently caught against the dresser behind him at a precarious angle. Tight tan skin clinging to an amazingly clear weave of sinewy muscle, a glossy stream of hair narrowing down out of coppery wings across the Cajun's wide flat chest into blue silk boxers. A handsome color blue, as well. Not an ounce of fat on him anywhere, carved and pared down to symmetric masculine essentials.

Henry just managed to catch him across the chest as Gambit's knees threatened to unhinge, awkward in avoiding his injuries, but his inquiring look was met by a slow, drunken and truly lovely smile, eyes glowing not two inches away like some fine friendly animal from out of the curtained shadows of his hair. Very fine. And -very- friendly. Henry snorted again, feeling a tingle race up the inside of his legs as he pulled Gambit off the dresser into one bracing arm so the pants could slide down and pool around his ankles. Gambit leaned, not entirely out of need, openly enjoying the sensation of his skin against soft blue fur.

"Mmmmm... 'dis feel tres -bon-, Bete - you soft as brushed cotton, y'are, tres doux; it 'dis soft -ev'where-?." Sinuous in his appreciation, rubbing his undamaged side against Beast's chest with unconcealed eroticism. This did not surprise his doctor, Remy had no sexual morals he'd ever noted, and what little restraint he had flew out the window when he imbibed too heavily, but it did irritate Henry today, he was just not in the mood for self-involvement...

"Here now, get off me ..." He gave Gambit a shake, harder than he meant, and knelt so the Cajun could step out of the trousers, felt the Cajun's hand drop atop his shoulder as if for balance. Then he became acutely aware of the elegant body stretched above him at a particularly provocative angle, the caps of his shoulders gleaming like fine brass in the ambered light, head low between his them, body long with a strangely predatory sinuousness. Smiling that wicked inviting smile ... the doctor jerked in startlement, snorted to clear his nostrils of the pheromones the drunken Cajun was putting off. He was having a hard time ignoring that tonight and his fangs glinted with an edged humor as he shook his head and tried to put the provocative effect at a clinical distance; "That is a singularly peculiar sensation, Gambit, most pernicious, I wish you would let me decipher all the ramifications..."

"Quoi? Ram-a-whats? Ow! Hey!"

A sharp blue eye snapped up at him coolly, the seductive tide deflected by pain as Henry knew it would be; "Be still, then, and gain some semblance of control, if you please."

"Makin' y'nervous, cher?" Purred in a tone too near hot for Beast to misunderstand, and he shoved him back against the dresser impatiently. Angry at Gambit's flirtation and angry at his own responses however innocently autonomic, he slapped an antiseptic-soaked gauze square as big as his considerably big hand along Remy's raw ribs.

"Sacre!" A near shout of purest surprised agony and Gambit's hand locked around McCoy's big wrist in a snake-strike snatch, holding it away from his body so hard McCoy actually felt his wrist-bones creak. As Gambit doubled over trying to catch his breath, eyes watering, Henry heard breathless swearing in a patois he was grateful not to understand, but the hurt underlying that fury he could not misunderstand. A shamed purplish flush climbed his blue cheeks.

"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."

"Non, really?" Gambit hissed acidly and let him go, hands bracing on his knees. Henry felt about a microgram tall.

"You... your empathic senses are projecting very strongly, and I fear my reaction was to that influence, not that this excuses... " Doctor McCoy knew that Gambit couldn't help his own erotic nature, some kinds and levels of alcohol rendered him randy as a mink and reeking of pheromones no male or female within the range of its influence could resist, he knew this better than any and yet had purposefully hurt him for the simple expedient of stopping it. Why was the influence so unforgivable now? It set his teeth on edge and made the restlessness already gnawing at him start to chew in earnest. These last few days... he felt like he was ready to explode and he couldn't afford the self-indulgence, no mutant could in these dire times. He drew in a deep shuddering breath, heavy-hearted.

When Gambit could move without feeling like his skin was spontaneously peeling off, he patted Henry's shoulder forgivingly.

"It's awright, mon ami, you been pressed too hard, too long, n' Remy likely asked f'it. In a mood, me, n' spreadin' it 'roun', 'pparently. Sure t'ing Gambit owes y' more'n 'dis l'il sting be wort."

"There is no debt for such service as I am sworn to, Gambit." Voice infinitely weary, struggling for professional distance yet drawn to the elegant curve of Gambit's long body, momentarily fascinated by the indrawn hollow of his rippled stomach. "You are but the recipient of the performance of my duty, my oath ..."

Surprised when Gambit straightened away from him, eyebrows tweaked and almost angry - what on earth was he thinking?

"Duty? Y'sat wit' me all 'dis time," Meaning the weeks he had been comatose after being returned from the Antarctic, "Y'talked t'me, y' touched me ..." He'd never known the Cajun had been aware of his care but for discomfort and a bristling impatience to be away from MedLab, and now Gambit looked so offended that Henry gripped his bicep to keep him from moving away from him, blue eyes exhausted, but wide and sincere. Me, he'd said it three times; rarely did Gambit refer to himself in other than third person and only when he was deeply distressed. How had he not seen how fragile Gambit was even after he left his care? Not anticipated what their shunning would to a man so needy of human affection? Certainly he'd gotten none here in the last months, Ororo gone, no one else even speaking to him much less touching him kindly.

"No, Remy. Not just duty." Projecting his feelings though that touch and using his given name, which only Ororo of them all seemed to even know. Gambit's hand clamped down over Henry's, surprising him.

"-Dat's- what I mean ..." He said fiercely, "Y'touch when Gambit's lost in 'dese bad places ..." tapping his sternum softly, his temple, with his free hand, leaning close and urgent, "Gambit -feel- it. Y'held onto 'dis sorry homme more n' once, been all 'dat kept me..."

From dying, from giving up and letting go, and Henry was astounded by the implications. Could it be that he, himself, was also empathic to some degree? That his medical acumen was more fundamental than trained genius? Many times when Gambit had been injured he'd sat with him without knowing why he felt compelled to do so, maintained a physical presence with his touch that he could not know Gambit had felt, yet it seemed he had, even unconscious. And this time, even comatose. Stars and garters...

The doctor shook his head again, eyes guarded and Gambit let it drop, knowing McCoy would investigate when he'd had time to think about it, and intending to give him some proof of it fairly soon. It remained in the silence between them as the doctor bent to his work.

Gambit trustingly let him apply the stinging antiseptic, this time with a far kinder hand, drawing down the elastic waist of Gambit's boxers to apply a bandage to the deeper scrape over his hipbone. How his hands appreciated the small tight box of pelvis, the movement of Gambit's muscles under his hands, and he let himself enjoy it because he'd enjoyed far too little of late that was beautiful, shifting to accommodate an engorgement he steadfastly ignored.

"I'm reluctant to bandage more than this, Gambit, the air will do a great deal more good and you don't seem prone to infection." He moved to his tray, replacing everything thereon almost feverishly preparatory to departing, when Gambit asked:

"You Remy's frien', Henry?" Bluntly posed, something far more than he was showing riding on the answer, and Henry sighed heavily, dredging up a last shred of patience.

"I like to think so, Gambit."

"'Den you stay awhile? Keep comp'ny a bit? Bored t'deat', me, can't sleep yet."

Profligate even with his time, which Henry could ill afford to be, and the guilty anger that coiled so at the ready came flaring back again: "I have too many things to do, Gambit, the virus, my work - watch television if you're bored, for God's sake!"

"Bete, c'mon - 'ave a drink wit' Remy, at least, eh? Got a finest-kind brandy wastin' 'here." Insisting, which made Henry even angrier until Gambit's final words, flippant and laden; "Jus' awhile, eh? Lonesome, me."

But Doctor McCoy had work to do and no longer really knew how to relax the way Gambit needed.

Gambit spread his arms out, inspired, knowing the pose showed his body off to good advantage, and grinned invitingly.

"Remy make it wort' yer while, Monsier Docteur... " What on earth was he offering? Henry was so off-balanced by his own assumption that he couldn't answer.

"C'mon, frere," The Cajun wheedled wickedly, "Gambit gon' give you what you been wantin' f'years..." Mocking Henry's immediate umbrage: "Gon' let you 'xamine 'im top t'toe, work out some o'dat... curiosity you got." Double-entendres thick as thieves even as Henry flushed with guilty relief that Gambit had not been suggesting what he'd thought he'd been suggesting. At least, he didn't think so. It was extremely tempting on more levels than he could admit.

Gambit had never allowed himself to be examined, only the wounded area was permitted to be treated, he'd never acquiesced to a complete physical, never ... should he take the opportunity that Gambit's loneliness offered? Ha, he might never have another!

Gambit's index finger rose straight by his head, "One t'ing, though... no 'quipment - hands only, eh? N' right 'ere."

This condition caused the physician's eyes to narrow, but he couldn't resist, no scientist worth his salt could have. He replaced the tray on the chest.

"As long as it takes?" he asked, imposing his own conditions, and the Cajun's grin got sly and wide.

"Sure 'ting, Henri. Long as it take. Remy got all night."

Henry approached the tall Cajun, ignoring the drunkenly salacious suggestion, walking a tight circle around the grinning man before finally setting his hands on his shoulders. Huge blue fingers tested the sinewy musculature, traced the bones beneath, the dense joints and redundant ligaments, longer than average stretches and odd connections of muscle groups. Remy's eyelids hooded half-way with a sigh and he stood stock still as Henry's fingers moved down his spine, thumbs pressed hard into that long gracious furrow as he progressed slowly downward. A shiver ran under McCoy's hands as he reached Gambit's tailbone, dimpled and somehow vulnerable, and Henry looked up at him to find his subject apparently enjoying his strong touch very much; his eyes were closed and his head tilted back in pleasure. Lust surged in answer, was beaten back willfully.

"You countin' Remy's spinebones, Henri?" Gambit murmured.

"As a matter of fact, I am ... " As well as the number of breathy sighs and throaty moans. "You... ah, seem to have four more vertebra than you should..."

Gambit's chuckle vibrated through his back to Henry's hand; "Gambit got ev't'ing he's supposed t'have, mon ami - can't help havin' extra." Implying a great many things with the lascivious waggle of his eyebrows, but Henry was already continuing on his way, mapping the deceptive power and strength of the lean body so unexpectedly offered to his study. Gambit let him take his long elegant hands and palpate the fine bones and tendons from palm to fingertip, the reach and attachments of muscles in forearms and biceps that humans just did not have. In tandem with flexible bones, they were what gave him his explosive speed and agility. Warm. So warm. He tried to ignore Gambit's little sounds, the sudden jumps as a ticklish spot was touched - and he seemed to have a great many of them. But he could not ignore the erection that gradually tented Gambit's satin boxer shorts. Gambit only shrugged when he noticed it.

"Can' not react, Bete... Remy likes t'be touched, can' help it... you a doctor, don' bodder you, neh?" Accent growing thicker, as his breathing seemed to be and Henry denied the shiver of his own response. Pragmatic as he was, clinically as he was carrying out this examination, he couldn't help but feel a response to the delicately erotic welcome Remy's body was offering to the attention of his hands. Leaning in to the stroke and press, holding still to prolong a particular probing.

"Tell you what, Bete, Gambit know 'dis was gon' feel so good, he'd a' let you do 'dis long time ago... " As Henry followed the long strapping muscles that bound his ribs down across his tight hard belly, the narrow vertical blades of his hipbones and a quiver that spoke eloquently of delight.

"Ooooooo, can't be done 'dere, yet, hehn? Bet' take a closer look 'dere... " Smooth golden skin gliding under his hands, silken skin stretched over masterfully masculine flesh. His hands were warmer where he touched Gambit, as if even the Cajun's blood rose to meet what was no longer an entirely clinical assessment... when his wide thumb rode over the bony ridge of his pelvis on the left and traced the muscle down the steep narrowing descent of groin, Gambit shivered almost violently and a rasping moan, soft and thoroughly aroused, vibrated Henry's ears like a tongue had licked the sound into them. His hand stilled on the flat of Gambit's lower belly, utterly bequiled by the flex of him breathing under his hand, satin shorts and warm skin, still and expectant.

Abruptly Henry rose to his full height meaning to abrogate the influence of Gambit's alcohol-unfettered charm power, only to find himself caught in the man's red hot gaze, intent.

Gambit murmured softly, "Henri, ces mains..." Taking up one of Henry's huge blue mitts in both of his, examining in his turn the indefinable grace and blatant power of the hands that had so often healed him, the only hands he'd ever trusted to do that. Henry felt his touch like an electric current passing in a purling river into him. A long slow look under russet lashes held Henry's sky-blue eyes, which had never judged, never decided what Remy LeBeau was or wasn't.

The warmth of Remy's real affection washed over McCoy in a golden flow that rendered him willingly motionless in it's wake.

"Always 'dese 'ands in d'dark, when it hurt. 'Dis time when it be too col' t'go on livin', feelin' d'hatred ev'where else... But not in dese 'ands..." Bringing that hand up to his chest and laying it flat there, soft copper hair tickling against Henry's palm with a little shock he never recalled experiencing before, though he had touched this chest, been inside it's bloody cavity, several times. Gambit's heartbeat seemed to invade him, rising. Red and black eyes would not let him go, somber and urgent.

"Feelin' like m'gon' 'splode, Henry. Wound so tight m'bones creak n n' m'blood wants t'boil, teeth 'urt from grindin' in m'sleep, n' ain' doin' much o'dat. Tired all th'time n' still jus' can' rest, me. Never can rest."

Hank hardly noticed that his fingers spread of their own volition across Gambit's chest, greedy for the warm living feel of him, as he listened almost against his will to a suffering that mirrored his own.

Half-lidded eyes heated and inciting, "Remy gave you what you wanted 'ere, mon ami, let you look 'im over t'yer heart's content. Now you gon' give Remy what 'e needs?"

What was he talking about? Why did the marrow of his bones seem to be liquefying in the gaze of simmering garnet eyes? The restlessness that had plagued him rose, champing at his control like a wild horse, the urge to some vague explosive action... Gambit moved under the broad blue hand pressed against him.

"Needin' it, me, needin' it bad... " A persuasive murmur like melting chocolate, smooth and potent as aged whiskey, fingers stroking the backs of Henry's while the other reached across the inches between them and glided enticingly down the curve of Henry's cheek, down the mighty tendoned column of his short wide neck. Every move like swimming, Henry was spellbound at the fearless speculation in Gambit's fine-boned face, an intention that flashed fire down Henry's spine and made the fine hairs there rise in a quick bristle.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Gambit?" Quoth Henry McCoy, as flabbergasted as he could ever remember being, and by far more than Gambit's proposition! It felt like the slight space between them was heating, the Cajun's eyes had taken on a lambent glow he'd never seen before and undeniable physiologic effects were being exerted, breathing, blood flow... tumescence. Surely it was only curiosity about what might be observed that he would never otherwise witness, the invitation to freedom upon a body he'd admired - but clinically! Only clinically, only the admiration of a cultured man for a beautiful object!

Gambit's smile slid onto his face in a fey and toothy chevron, like a fox with a chicken in its' jaws. Reading Henry's unwilling willingness in his eyes, and in the growing evidence between his thighs.

"Not tryin', homme... " Closing the distance between them so smoothly he appeared not to move at all. "Already done it..." And his mouth settled warm and wet and firm on Henry's gasp-parted lips as he proceeded to prove the point. Something exploded in Henry's brain very softly, something sparkling and honey-warm that ran down his body under his skin from head to toe and overpowered the unprecedented shock of having a man's mouth on his. Panicked into immobility, he struggled to analyze it rather than be consumed by it, but Remy's clever sparking tongue teased the sharp edges of his canines, and licked the primally inciting tang of his own blood deep into Henry's mouth. The very ferocity of what came roaring up in answer startled Henry past all biologic curiosity, his blue eyes snapped open, powerful hands caught Gambit's shoulders, shoved back and held with bruising force.

"-What- are you doing?" Despite the violence, Gambit's eyes opened slowly, dreamily, and the sharp pink tip of his tongue swept across his upper lip after the taste of the kiss. As if he knew what McCoy denied even to himself, what secret he shared with Logan of a feral nature deeply buried... and -did- he know it? Could Gambit read so clearly the deepest and most intimate urges?

Questions would be deflected, ignored, answered with lies, and the curve of fine lips still too close to him confirmed that. One sculpted eyebrow rose in wicked query - how curious was he? How brave? Offering himself to further examination and... wanting it. This floored Henry, staunchly heterosexual but inexplicably flattered that Remy would... want him. There was nothing overtly mutant about Remy except his eyes, he was so perfectly human in form, so beautifully human ... whereas Henry was a beast - he knew what he was.

Remy let the charm loose, sent his voice into husky velvet, knowing he was going to do as he'd been mulling doing for several days now. This kind gentle blue face lined and shaded in exhaustion, frustration, grief, and for all his skill he could not heal himself. This was all he knew to do for someone who'd done so much for him, he was going to risk Beast's ire or his passion, either one certain to be bruising. Bruises healed, wounds could be mended, only hearts could bleed forever and still not kill a man. Deliberately he closed his eyes and -felt- Henry's hand on his chest, -wanted-...

"Gambit, surely you realize how inappropriate this is..." Amazed to be able to speak without stammering, feeling like a bird enraptured by a very enticing cobra, and when Gambit opened his ruby eyes, they saw the wanting behind the doctor's polite demurral and would not let Henry deny it. McCoy felt like he was breathing by the teaspoon, his pulse throbbed. He did want him. Heterosexual or not, he wanted Remy's body, wanted to run his hands without a single clinical thought over the silky skin, use him as he'd been invited to do, let it burn and rage and explode so maybe he could find some sort of release, relief. Gods, was he really justifying this so blatantly? Taking the excuse to let the Beast so few knew wild on this inciting man? Gambit had no idea!

But the dark look said differently, appreciating the ferocity of what lurked in McCoy's eyes as his hand slipped down the blue bulk of the doctor's massive arm and appreciated that power, too.

"You Remy's docteur, Henri, n' Remy need 'dis."

"Gambit, you're inebriated and injured, and I..."

"Don' care, homme, n' if it hurt a bit... hell, Henri, pain part of it, allus part of it. C'mon n' jump in, mon ami - y'want to, Remy wants y'to, ain' nobody 'ere sayin' wrong or right... "

"Gambit, this is not the route to any solutions for either of us." Gently, because he was utterly befuddled and touched by the open affection in Gambit's proposition; "A moment's weakness could lead to a lasting regret."

Warm breath broke on his cheek as Remy laughed softly; "Pardonnez moi, Bete, but Rem' ain' nev' lef' anyone regrettin' an't'ing but not havin' 'im again." Unoffended because he could feel the friendship that prompted Henry's rebuff, and it was that very friendship he was trying to serve.

"Gambit!" Panic coming up strongly at the tremor Gambit's bold hand caused, "What do you want from me? I can't just..." Desperate to climb out of the spell being woven, away from the warm honey flow of that charm power and the urge that was fast approaching need, but Remy knew all of that and was inescapable, demon eyes and yet pure in this moment, honest.

"Wan' f'you t'touch me, Henri..." He breathed, face so near Henri closed his eyes, felt the tip of the Cajun's nose against his cheek and then the brush of lips against his ear; "F'you t'stay wit' 'dis homme t'night n' ease 'im."

"Remy... " Struggling to be gentle, to extricate himself even knowing it was likely already too late. "You could have any woman, any man you wanted, any time..."

"Yeh, could, did Remy just wan' fuck." The 'k' popped in Henry's ear and he shivered helplessly; "Been 'dere, done 'dat, ami, it don' work f'long. Remy lonesome, Bete, n' what 'e needs be more n' 'dat. What we do..." What we will be doing, a forgone conclusion by the intense focus in his level gaze, "Mean more 'dan 'dat. Gotta be someone I care for." Henry opened his eyes, looked at him in terrible indecision. Remy's expression and posture and touch was pure entreating poetry, and Hank suddenly saw the con, and the truth that con represented.

Gambit was asking for what he knew Henry needed himself. Concealing an unexpected and profoundly touching generosity in this seemingly selfish seduction. It was all he had to offer to a friend in distress, and he would accept whatever blame for it so long as his friend was eased. A whore with a classic heart of gold.

It was the single sweetest thing Dr. Henry McCoy had ever had come his way.

Simple as that, Henry found himself willing. Heal me, and heal yourself in me... One huge hand slipped up the outside of Remy's thigh and came to rest on his undamaged hip. Touching someone who cared, who wanted him... suddenly the knowledge of what he was about to do hit him like a hammer and he became completely erect with painful rapidity. He would take what Remy offered, let Remy be his friend in the only way he knew how, knowing now how true a friend the Cajun truly was.

Remy's smile was sweet and wicked in the gentled understanding in Henry's eyes, reading fire coming up in them; "Well, awright..." He murmured in a near growl; "C'mere, mon bleu frere." McCoy did, humbled and grateful and with an excitement he'd never felt before. Sex was the Cajun's kingdom, passion territory long mastered, and he knew by the determined anticipation in those dark eyes that Remy did not intend to stop until every torment Henry owned was driven, at least temporarily, away.

Beast grinned around the thought that came to mind: A thing doing was worth doing well, and Remy wriggled happily against him.

The Cajun braced Henry's mighty grizzled head between his hands and opened with an almost formal kiss that started velvety soft and then raised the ante by sucking Henry's bottom lip between his fine white teeth, his hot little tongue stroking the captive bit. Henry's toes gripped the carpet so hard his claws dug furrows. God he needed this! The rush of -feeling-, intense vibrant -joyful- feeling! Quivering, he stood in the maelstrom of that cleansing flood and just relished the feeling of Remy LeBeau's hands on him.

The Cajun was a curious boy and unabashed in his interest in Henry's furred body, clever fingers slipping the lab coat off the immense breadths of muscle and solid bone, tendons like bridge cables and all of it sheathed in a totally contrary richness of fur soft as a chinchilla blanket.

"Ooooo... Dieu, ain' nev' felt anyt'ing like 'dis... dis tres bon, Bete, tres bon..." Rubbing himself against Henry's torso, hands friendly explorers gliding over the valleys and crags and Herculean sweeps. Henry didn't know what he should do, trembling with eagerness and uncertainty, so he did nothing. Remy didn't seem to mind.

A rumble ran under Remy's hands as they dove deep through the fur, knowing, Henry could not fathom how, where a stroke against the grain teased the sensitive skin beneath. He felt the Cajun's lips smile against his, like he was a fool, like he had no idea just what this man could really offer. Not ego, but certain fact - empathic. Henry understood the scope of that with a bolt of purely erotic excitement - knowing and giving in the same breath, his pleasure intensified in sharing that of his lover, reading responses like his body was braille. The more he gave, the more he got, and that defined Remy so utterly that Henry laughed out loud with delight and enveloped the lanky body in an exuberant bearhug of such friendly enthusiasm that Remy's breathless grunt was laughter, too.

"'Dis gon' be fun..." Henry's toothy grin agreed.

Mouths met halfway in a bruising tangle of a kiss, lusts met and matched, any semblance of shyness or restraint cast aside in the rising heat of body against body, fur against skin. Henry abandoned every civilized disclaimer clamoring in his head, wanting this, wanting Remy, body and heart, and for once in his life he would be selfish, he would take what he craved for himself. Tonight he could touch this flesh as he wished, every inch, every dip and angle and hollow, tonight he could let the Cajun's empathy invade him utterly, and he set to it with a dedication that very soon had LeBeau moaning breathlessly.

Lips slipped and sucked, a silken slither of Remy's hair across Beast's knuckles as he clasped the back of his neck. Remy turned his head to let him in, opened his mouth, tongue winding around Henry's as it thrust in with a surge of heated aggression. Henry tasted blood, Remy's, and hesitated, but LeBeau did not, long arms draping over Henry's shoulders, fingers clutching handfuls of fur. Strong arms, aggressively strong, demanding all he had, nothing held back.

"Do whatever y'like, mon ami, Remy c'n take it, whatever, however..." Breathed into his ear on a fierce shiver, "Faites ce que vou, ce que vous voulez (do what you will, what you want)." Inviting every lustful fantasy, every ferocious need.

Not a woman, frail and tender, not a romantic looking for love, but a man strong enough to take whatever Henry had, wild enough to want it and experienced enough to make even roughness erotic. Remy's mouth, his moving hands, teasing, inflaming, knowingly calling forth the deepest appetites, inviting Beast to be his namesake and beautiful in it, unashamed. McCoy slid his mighty hands up Remy's back, firmly and smoothly, avoiding the scrape and half wondering whether Remy was fully aware of what he was asking for; likely he did. The Cajun rocked against him, blue satin-covered erection rubbing with excrutiating pressure against his own, and though Henry started at the intimacy, his body did not, meeting push with shove, things opening inside, leaping from confinement. Remy's rub and press demanded the surrender of every last vestige of civility, demanded that Henry be man only, need only, want only. Not X-Man, nor physician nor scientist, only the hungry lonely man he was. It was like a match set to bone-dry tinder, and with a deep gutteral growl Henry accepted the invitation and surprised Remy by taking sudden and utter control.

The Beast roared forth and devoured Remy's mouth, teeth nipping at the fine jawbone, at tongue and lips, plundering, driving deep, and his growl vibrated like passionate thunder through them both. Broad hands took possession of Remy's body, nothing meek or shy in the rough fondling as he shoved the slender man inexorably back toward the bed, not stopping even when that barrier met the back of Remy's knees but toppling them both onto it in a grappling knot. The Cajun made no objection on behalf of his injuries; indeed, as Henry's teeth closed around one of his nipples, a burst of patois and an arch up into the bite were nothing but encouraging. Remy's calves hung over the side of the bed and his toes curled against the carpet as Henry's tongue flattened and licked across first one nipple and then the other. Flesh to be tasted, a need to be met, an inferno that must be quenched before it consumed him, and it would be met and quenched in this flesh, in this living heat, in this man who writhed beneath him and overwhelmed him with the welcoming force of wanting it just as badly.

The sensation of Beast's mouth on him, the fur sliding against his skin, the enormous and muscularly meaty weight of him, were driving Remy into panting quivers, and he objected with a sharp cry and reaching hands when all those gorgeous sensations were suddenly gone. A huge hand in the middle of his chest kept him down, he opened his eyes to find Henry leaning over him, blue eyes ferocious as he'd never seen them before and examining him with a burning focused hunger that drew a slow smile of anticipation across the Cajun's face. Tension left him on a long sussurant sigh and he relaxed into the soft satin coverlet with a lovely take-me smile, stretched his arms over his head and laid himself out long and beautiful under the heat of those eyes, showing off and offering it all in a slow languid move. His fine toes rose up from the floor and ran up the inside of Henry's calves to his crotch; his smile stretched wider as the doctor pushed against them.

Henry's eyes never left him as he unbuttoned his pants and removed them, his enormous cock bobbing free as he rose and Remy's eyes widening.

"Das' fine, Bete... oh, 'dat's jus' fine..." Deep indigo from crown to base, thick and long, and Henry's eye-teeth flashed savagely at the lack of misgivings. Remy was in no distress at his size - indeed, his tongue slipped across his upper lip as if starving for that very thing and McCoy's cock lengthened toward him in answer. Their eyes held as Henry leaned over him meaningfully, holding him flat as he laid a wet moving kiss on the Cajun's parted mouth, tongue driving deep into the hot spark of cayenne pepper and liquor and cigarettes, molding the fine lips under his into a sucking seal. Slowly his other hand slid heavily down the slender corrugations of Remy's stomach and swept those blue satin boxers down and off with the flourish of a magician. Remy gasped into Henry's mouth as the broad palm skimmed across his belly, moaned deep in his throat as it closed around his cock, so big a hand that he all but enveloped the entire length. Remy's fingers gripped onto Henry's fur-covered sides, holding on, hips bucking into the sweet pressure as that hand that had comforted him so many times now skillfully and purposefully tortured him in its stroking clasp.

Henry was surprised at Gambit's erect size; for his height he was remarkably well-endowed, which he should have expected given the legend he was among his lovers. The sensations, oh, the -sensations-! How long had it been since he'd touched another body, since the jubilant freedom of knowing his need would at last be satisfied? Strange, yes, the feel of a man's cock in his hand, velvet over steel and exquisitely sensitive. He was a man, he needed sex like every mortal needed it, mutant or not, a man! He lowered and then dragged himself, the fur of his chest and belly in one long growling caress down the hard narrow column of Remy's body, and ended up kneeling between his knees on the floor by the bed. His hands on Remy's long thighs keeping his legs open, rubbing after the crisp sensation of the fine russet hair and breathing in the heady perfume of the Cajun's powerful arousal. Fine-boned ankles and sharp flat shinbones, everywhere he touched Gambit enjoyed, Henry's hands slid up behind Gambit's knees, gripping, massaging, enjoying...

Though he had never thought to do so before, never in his wildest dreams, he leaned forward on greedy impulse and took Remy's cock in one deep sucking wet motion into his mouth, clamping down on Remy's groin when the Cajun jerked in surprised sensory overload. Remy's heels slammed down onto the floor, his body tightened into a bow, and the sound he made was a scream turned inward, choking and overpowered. "Dieu, ceci se sent si bon, si bon!" (God, this feels so good, so good!) Henry's head moved and Remy quivered and groaned, the doctor was astonished to find himself relishing the hard hot silken rod in his mouth and the trembling thighs fanning against his furred cheeks. The sounds, rough and desperate, uneven.

"Oh... oh, Henri... too fas', too fas', oh Dieu, bon Dieu, oh oui, yessss!" Henry reached under him, grabbed the small handful of velvety buttocks in his hands and brought Remy firmly up to his mouth, setting an implacable rhythm. Then he sucked, hard, tongue rubbing a snaking slide of deep pressure up the underside of Remy's ridged shaft, tucking the head of his cock into the back of his throat and knowing what he was doing, now, because he was a man himself. Knowing what a man liked, what made a man delirious, loving how uninhibited and vocal Remy was because he could hear his passion in the rising pace of patois, the increasingly desperate tones, the sharp cry of purest lust at the edge of large deadly teeth. Henry's own arousal hardened anew at the sight of Remy's long sprawled body tight and twitching with pleasure, his face, rapt and delirious at the feel of Henry's tongue twisting around his shaft.

Remy had intended to do this for him, had wanted to, but certainly as soon as he came - because he was on the razored edge of that right now - Henry would be fucking him within an inch of his life. There was nothing he wanted more, craving the blunt honesty of a man's passion, the power and pain and jarring thrusts that would pin him to the bed, to the earth itself, plant him in Henry's heart forever.

"Henri..." Moaned frantically, "Henri..." Hips working into Henry's mouth, hands gripped so hard into the silk beside them that the knuckles were white, head thrown back, mouth wide open, eyes hard closed, "Henri, can'... m'comin', Henri, can' stop it - oh sapriste Henri y'mout', Henri!" And Henry, rather than heed the warning and move away, used his hands in a very doctorly way to ensure that the orgasm would rattle LeBeau from the top of his auburn head to the bottom of his graceful feet. He slid two thick fingers behind Remy's testicles, gauging the Cajun's approach as they tightened, stroked a hard press hard across the perineum so Remy nearly swallowed his own tongue, and then rammed one fingertip, at precisely the correct moment, into his anus in an unerring strike at his prostate.

The Cajun lost it, a choked scream stuttering between his clenched teeth as he went rigid and Henry didn't care even when the scream notched up in volume, there was no one in this wing just now to overhear, the glorious beautiful body struggling and shuddering and pulsing into Henry's mouth and Henry, staunch heterosexual, hungrily worked his throat around the pumping organ and swallowed as Remy babbled mindlessly, bucking and spasming and shaking.

While he was still caught in the paroxysms of his orgasm, disoriented and pliable, Hank folded his own thick legs under him, grabbed Remy by the crook of hip and thigh, and pulled him toward him off the bed, opening the Cajun's legs around the bulk of his own body and bringing him down right onto his hard-standing penis. Remy's surprised gasp was like music in his ears, a low keening sound of lust and pain, jerking hard as the mighty blue head of Henry's cock pierced him. Henry's arms went around his back and slipped down to cup his buttocks, supporting his weight so he did not impale him all at once. Then he sank down onto his heels beside the bed with Remy coming forward against him, embracing him, letting him do whatever he would, however fast or slow, however hard or gentle. Trusting.

Truth be told, Henry was aware of very little at that moment but the volcanic clutch around his cock, so tight it seemed impossible it could enter any further. Small hunching movements up into Remy, whose head was pushed hard under Henry's chin, whose arms were holding on to him like bands of iron to provide leverage. Every push answered with a sound, a quiver, a widening of his legs around Henry's iron-hard torso.

Gradually Remy's wits returned and he fully appreciated the size of the man getting into him bit by bit; he tried to relax, to permit it, felt Henry slide a few inches higher and deeper. Felt his grumbling moan and realized it was the first such sound the doctor had made. Remy wanted more of that, so he pushed down a fraction just to hear that catch in Henry's breath, then caught his own when Henry answered with an aggressive thrust that teetered in the vicinity of agony. Hank knew and stopped short, panting with wanting in and trembling with holding back. Henry's thumbs grounded themselves in the dimples at the base of Remy's tailbone, his fingers fanned out and engulfed the small buttocks and Remy leaned back into the brace of his powerful blue forearms around his sides and hips and the small of his back. In this position Henry could see every admirable inch of him, from the passion swollen mouth to the renewing erection pressed against his own furred blue belly, and the Cajun gave an undulant twist that moved Beast inside him without increasing the depth and moaned; "Henri, 'dis d'most beautiful feelin', si bon..." So masculine even being taken, such uninhibited eroticism, focused intently on nothing but physical sensation, nothing else in his mind and nowhere else he wanted to be. His fine parted mouth, his hot hooded eyes, every expression and sound eloquently describing the pleasure at what Henry was doing to him, and how much he wanted it.

The grizzled blue head lowered onto the back-arching body in his arms and his wide tongue laid across the soft hair of his chest to that impossibly soft bare spot that hardened in an instant in his mouth, he sucked at that hard little nipple and then went to the other, Remy rocking into the touch in mindless pleasure. He licked the hollow of the Cajun's throat, the winged arch of collarbone, and turning smooth to rough arch of his neck as his head slowly fell back to offer all. Remy's eloquent fingers shaped the big skull, dove into the long thick pelt where the heat of Henry's passion had begun to dampen it and murmured something that sounded so fine McCoy had to kiss the mouth it came out of, lips hot and pliant, tongues in coiling exploration. When Remy broke away he let the Cajun's mouth return the pleasure, clever wet tongue tracing the whorls and curves of his lightly-furred ears, drilling in a sudden darting push into the sensitive depths so Henry cried out and shivered, pushed up. And once pushing began, his hips took over.

Bit by bit Beast seated himself more firmly up into the molten clutch of the Cajun's sleek body and every move wrought a breathless grunt from him. Remy's hands stroked every part of Beast he could reach, humming and sparking with pleasure at the steely frame under the plush warmth. Henry was very large and difficult to accommodate, but Remy knew how to relax into the pain, how to shunt it into that sharp-edged pleasure that was so close to masochism.

Henry moved suddenly and Remy gasped, hands hard on Henry's shoulders, legs widening, lifting.

"Am I... hurting you?" McCoy rasped, astonished he could speak at all and barely recognizing the rough urgent voice as his own.

Remy wriggled extraordinarily and panted, "Do it, Henri, Remy c'n take it, oooo, wan' it... gimme all y'got, homme, show me what y'got." But the position, intimate and gratifying in that intimacy as it was, wasn't enough, Remy wanted Henry's cock striking deep, wanted Henry to have every inch he could have, which meant he had to move without breaking the mood or the contact. He elicited a gasp of wonder out of Henry as he set his feet on the floor on either side of the doctor and pressed himself upward, knowing McCoy would follow rather than disengage. McCoy completed the motion Remy had begun and lifted them both up onto the bed, had a brief glimpse of one of Remy's legs folding with impossibly limber flexibility, knee dragging across his blue belly in one sinuous controlled twist that put Remy on his stomach with Henry still buried inside him.

Henry was almost dizzy with the sensation of Remy turning on his cock, wondering how they'd gotten into this position but deliriously glad of it when Remy undulated back against him with a deeply erotic moan, then took a deep breath and arched himself hard into Henry's crotch so his cock reached the final few inches that made them both cry out and stop, pulsing and hammering on the brink.

"Exquisite, oh mon Dieu... nobody ev'had me so, Henri, feels... s'good, hurts... -so- good." Henry didn't dare move, feeling like he was wedged into a place far too small for him to be, fearing doing serious damage if he loosed the urge to thrust that had his legs twitching uncontrollably. Then Remy began to move beneath him, small delicate moves that pulled on him where he was buried inside him, that rendered him captivated and breathless with wonder. How could this feel so incredibly good? Tighter than a woman, hotter, more... just... -more-.

By the exquisite motion of Remy's small neat hips Henry knew with a hot thrill up his spine that the Cajun was rubbing himself on the satin comforter, rocking back and forth so Henry's cock was pulled and pushed inside him. The doctor ran his huge hands up the sinuously twisting flare of Remy's back appreciating the slide of muscles and sinew under his touch, the fine architecture of bones and joints and thin, surprisingly soft, skin. The sight of elegant hands twisted in the cloth, clutching it for leverage. The sound of the passion that tumbled in a honeyed rasp out of his mouth, and Henry McCoy couldn't stop himself. He curved over the slender pale column under him and gave him every inch in one hard thrust that made Remy cry out once, sharply, before he could let it be.

Henry fucked him with mindless savagery for a minute or two, losing himself in the bursting pleasure of the hot tightness rippling along the enormous girth of his buried cock. Then Remy moved himself, and Henry, sensing both that he was hurting LeBeau and the Cajun's desire to guide this, let the master take over. His hands went gliding down LeBeau's body, thumbs running the shifting furrow of his spine, fingers thrumming over ribs and finally wrapping around the tight box of Remy's pelvis as the Cajun drove him slowly, expertly, out of his mind. A flare of pain when he gripped the scraped hip but Remy never even paused, he rocked back into him so Henry's cock stroked that sweetest of spots inside and his head jerked up. Henry let him undulate forward to slide against the satiny surface, let him make the rhythm and take Henry as deeply as he could because he obviously knew how. Auburn hair slithered and pooled between his shoulderblades as his head arched up again with a shuddering gasp. Lord, it was as much art as biology... it was like fucking elegance itself, pure uninhibited erotic beauty.

And then Henry experienced that one unique skill that was Remy's alone, that one gift that made those who loved him once love him forever. The Cajun thrust every squirming sliding boiling sensation he was feeling straight to Henry in one hot flash, the empathy power suddenly creating a closed circuit of shared pleasure that hovered on the brink of explosive overload.

McCoy's big hands clutched the small hips, then, helplessly slammed into the houndish body as hard and far and fast as he could, mindlessly, utterly overpowered by the sensation of thrusting into tight clutching heat intermingled with equally fierce feelings of being opened and thrust into, feeling the heavy surge of his own cock pistoning in and out as if he were being fucked himself in exquisite tandem with the sensation of fucking. Oh, my stars and garters... oh...

Words, urgent and unrecognizable French tumbled in a jolting flood and all Henry heard was faster, harder, God, deeper, without knowing if it was his own voice or Remy's. His testicles swung heavily against Remy, and with a frustrated cry he drove his hand under the Cajun's groin and hauled him up onto his knees, shuddering with satisfied delight when his long legs widened on their own, when the arch of Remy's back deepened and his hands reached for the footboard, since they were facing that direction, and held on hard. That willingness to be ridden made Henry grin with the first true happiness he'd felt for months and he slowed just a bit, laid himself, overheated and damp-furred and enormous, over Remy's back and slowed his thrusts, made them long and smooth. For a moment he simply listened to the panting gasps of Remy's laboring breath, enjoyed the deep trembling of pleasure and exertion that shivered through him, the taste of the sweat by Remy's ear as he nuzzled the silken hair aside to murmur a comradely threat into it's perfect shell-like shape.

"You're in for a wild ride, Mr. LeBeau ..." Remy grunted, a breathless laugh, and undulated once, and then again, underneath him so his lodged body was caught in first one and then another delirious pressure.

"Go f'it, Mr. Toad - Remy like - oh! - wild rides... Ahhhhh... Ah-AH!"

With a deep hum of anticipation, Henry spent a minute or two close over the sweating Cajun hunching in and out with small pistoning strokes as his hands reached around in a furred embrace to caress him. His fingers dragged over the hard angles and planes of chest and belly, hips and the front of his thighs, palms sliding together down to his groin so slowly, so torturously slowly, claws parting the crisp hair and teasing around the erect shaft. Patient himself, he waited until Remy begged to be touched, until his pleas took on a frantic edge ('C'monC'monC'mon!'), before grasping and stroking Remy's burning hard cock in perfect synchrony with his own plunging thrusts. Remy started being noisy then, masculine cries of need, of demand, of pleasure, wordless moans and crude encouragements until their bodies were driving together with bruising force.

Tension, frustration, grief and guilt gathered like an imprisoned crowd behind a gate in Henry's soul as he worked at battering it down, arms now wrapped hard around Remy to keep him where he needed him, to keep the force of his thrusts and the momentum of his weight from driving the Cajun's skull into the foot-board, which Gambit would not have minded by the eagerness with which he met every thrust.

"Yes, ah, yessss, yes..." Henry McCoy had never been verbal in lovemaking, but this, somehow, was both more and less than that, and what had been before, even what would come after, meant absolutely nothing here. He knew the Cajun would be bruised, felt where each finger would leave its mark, and minded no more than Remy did. Tension racheted up another notch, Henry's moves became brutally forceful and reveled in the freedom to do so, his soul celebrated being unshackled in this primal and primitive joining.

He could hear Remy's voice, a jarred rasping scream that he barely registered until the Cajun's body went rigid in his grip and suddenly clamped down on him. His cock in Henry's hand was pulsing in long ejaculations, and a rising keening cry stopped short at it's crescendo when Henry rammed himself home and exploded into him with a bestial roar.

It lasted forever, it seemed, that frozen locked moment when he saw stars and blackness and everything burst apart, hips driving hard and high, arms crushing around the Cajun until he could not have been able to breathe, though he never complained. Pulsed and thrust and felt his seed tearing violently from him, surging fiercely through him into Remy's shuddering body.

Hearts hammering so hard and fast, clutching fiercely at whatever of each other they could reach and Remy rising under him like a force of nature, pushing him back, bringing him deeper as his tumescence slowly emptied with a long low shuddering moan of completion. He dropped his blue cheek against the back of Remy's sweat-slick shoulders and for a very long time they stayed just that way, holding on, shaking and gasping, until Henry went down onto his back, taking Remy close in his arms with him, still joined.

Everything else drifted away like the ashes of something consumed in a white-hot conflagration. Pain, loneliness, grief ... gone. Rendered insignificant.

After many long minutes during which Remy sprawled across him in a long lanky drape like a bonelessly relaxed cat, Henry slid out of him; Remy sighed deeply and turned over as though he were lying on the bed itself rather than the huge hard blue body of Henry McCoy, legs parted around Henry's hips and his head resting on Henry's chest with an expression of such debauched and satiated bliss that Henry chucked breathlessly to see it. He stroked the tumble of hair that flowed like fine frayed silk across his fingers, heavy and cool; no wonder Ororo could sit by him and do so for hours, it felt that good. How she never progressed to fucking him was something Henry could not, in this glowing moment, understand at all.

"Mmmmmm..." The Cajun was purring, hands idly moving on Henry's broad chest in return for the caress he was receiving, smiling. Without opening his eyes, he said quietly, "Don' know 'bout you, Bete, but I'm feelin' -real- fine 'bout now." He enjoyed the rise and fall ride of the deep breath taken by the man under him, enjoyed the plush fur and the sense of peace that poured off him and he smiled with a satisfaction of more than the flesh. He -reached- with the empathy, and found noo sense of withdrawal, no regret, as so often came with men after they'd satisfied their lustful curiosity with him. No, Henry's touch was warm and friendly, and Remy felt the bond well forged.

Henry didn't quite know what to make of the hug Remy gave him then, with his whole body he hugged him, utterly trusting, loving, contented. After a few minutes Remy scooted back a little and his head rose wearing a wicked face, hair disheveled across it only adding to the beauty. LeBeau was beautiful, and Henry appreciated all that was beautiful, even the soft blue fur that had covered his body since his birth that he had never realized was quite so soft, quite so pleasant, until Remy's whole-hearted appreciation. Henry watched him sit up slowly with a warm gratitude filling his heart. Grinning astride Henry's beefy body, Remy stretched up languidly, the picture of erotic man. His head tilted and his hands came down flat on Henry's chest, thumbs stroking experimentally across indigo nipples and his smile going feral when they got hard for him and Henry squirmed.

"Ain't tired, are ya?" He murmured, balancing his weight on his hands and rubbing himself shamelessly against Henry's belly fur as he'd been against the coverlet earlier. Henry's eyebrows rose in disbelief as Remy's knees folded themselves upward, flexible as a weasel, and he closed his eyes a moment at the sensation of Beast's fur in such bluntly intimate contact.

"Hehn? What's 'dis?"

Henry started to chuckle, as amazed by the light-heartedness of the sound as his own unexpected reaction to Remy's nymphomaniacal ability to go again. He began to harden once more behind LeBeau, and Remy leaned forward and brought his face down to meet him with a warmly anticipatory smile. Such friendliness, so easy, as if he'd spent years in his arms, that any bit of discomfort that might have begun to rise in Henry melted away. Affectionately the doctor reached for the X-Men's outlaw master thief, stroking down his arms, along the horizontal bend of his thighs, and took the kiss he brought down to him with tenderness and lust and all the gratitude and hope of which he was capable. Not alone, never again alone or victim to the unmet needs every man who lived possessed. McCoy had no illusions about his own heterosexuality nor Remy's promiscuity, but neither could he ignore the pervasive comfort he had found in Remy's generous and faithful heart. This beautiful body would be there for him whenever he needed it, as would this mad hatter of a grinning friend sitting on top of him who would never refuse him. And who, indeed, would likely know before he did when a little 'easing' was needed.

At least, he knew it right now.

 

END