Disclaimer: The characters in the story belong to Marvel, but the idea
belongs to me. I'm not making any money off of this, so please don't sue. I've
got nothing of value, so it would simply be a colossal waste of time, effort,
and financial resources.
This story contains explicit scenes of homoerotic activity. If you are under the legal age in your area to view adult-oriented material, if it is illegal to view such material in your area, or if you are offended by explicit depictions of sexuality between consenting adults, do not read this story.
As always, I welcome feedback. This story is written in response to the many requests for a longer piece after the posting of my poem, "Simplicity". If you like it, great! If you don't, that's fine. I tell the stories I need to tell in my own way. Such is my blessing, such is my curse! :)
Charles loved early mornings. He often got up two hours before sunrise to enjoy the stillness. Most of his day was consumed by the administrative chores of running the most exclusive school in the world, the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning. And then there was the constant grind of his other profession, combating racial intolerance between humans and their mutant cousins by teaching young mutants the proper use of their powers and advising the X-Men.
Mutants. People genetically endowed with parahuman abilities. Most often, mutation resulted in minor changes in a person's physical or psionic nature. On rare occasions, though, it bestowed godlike power. Xavier knew about power. He was the most powerful telepath on the planet. Very few minds were closed to him.
But in life, there is a balance. Where Charles was psychically strong, his physical body was impaired, his legs crushed long ago and rendered useless. He used a wheelchair when away from his institute. But at home, he relied on a hoverchair. It was a gift from the Majestrix Shi'ar, Lilandra Neramani. As he floated out the front door and into the dark, Charles' thoughts wandered back to her.
He had been Consort to this woman who ruled an empire beyond human comprehension. They were together for many years, but ended the relationship because of conflicts of duty. She would never be permitted to formally take an alien as her permanent mate, and he could never leave Earth as long as the fires of racial intolerance burned. So, they parted and remained close friends.
Charles stopped the hoverchair and looked around. He had traveled around the mansion and was at the back. He could make out the swimming pool and the basketball court. He turned the chair towards the house and took a cleansing breath. He checked his watch. 5:30 am.
There's at least an hour before sunrise, he said to himself, time to sit back, relax, and think.
He looked up at the roof of the house. A shadowy figure crouched between two of its gables. Gently, he reached out to the person with his mind. But his telepathy was ineffective. Charles couldn't read the person's thoughts. He knew who it was:
"Gambit," he whispered.
"Why would he be up at this hour of the morning?" Charles wondered. After all, in the time that the Cajun mutant had been with the X-Men, he was hardly the stay-at-home type. And since his recent return from Antarctica, he spent even less time up at the main house since before the debacle that was the so-called 'Trial of Gambit'. He preferred to stay in one of the guesthouses, a sentiment shared by his teammates.
Charles floated up to the roof. An ember glowed in the darkness and he went toward it.
"Mornin', M'sieur," Gambit said. His voice was as hypnotic and exotic as his crimson eyes.
"Good morning to you, Remy," the professor answered, "It's strange to see you here at such an early hour."
Remy LeBeau took a playing card out of a pocket in his duster and used his mutant ability to charge it with kinetic energy. If thrown, it would have exploded, but instead, he held it up as a lantern.
"Since you can' see in de dark, chere, Remy, he give you a little light."
"Thanks," said Charles, "but don't you find it cold up here?"
"Gambit got used to col' in de Antarctic," the Louisianan said, "an' to bein' alone."
Xavier shuddered as a chill ran up his spine. "I can't begin to imagine what that was like for you, Remy. I'm so sorry that it happened."
Gambit barked a bitter little laugh. "Je sais. But bein' sorry wasn't good 'nough for Gambit, so why it be good 'nough pour vous?"
Charles couldn't answer that question. He studied the younger mutant's face in the glow from the card. He had the finely chiseled features of a Renaissance sculpture. In the darkness, Remy's eyes seemed to glow as if lit from within. "I forgot that you have excellent night vision."
Remy chuckled. "Good t'ing too, chere, considerin' where Remy been, don' you t'ink?"
"I would think so," Charles said with a giggle.
"What is it dat you want, professeur?"
Charles looked at him again. "I was just out enjoying the peace and quiet when I noticed you sitting up here," he began, "so, I decided to join you. I hope I didn't intrude."
"Non, It a free country."
Charles hovered a little closer. "Mind if I stay here with you?"
"Knock youself out," Gambit answered.
The hoverchair settled next to the Cajun but remained just off the roof. Charles heard a dog bark in the distance. "Why do you come up here?" he asked.
Gambit drew smoke deep into his lungs and held it a second before he exhaled and threw the butt into the birdbath below. It fizzled out when it hit the water. "When it light out, you can see far into de forest," he said.
Charles nodded, then shivered. "My sweater doesn't seem to be keeping me warm at all," he complained, "I'm freezing!"
"Ain't de shirt what be you problem, chere," Gambit said. He struggled to contain a laugh. "You need to cover you bald head!"
Charles reached up and felt his smooth scalp. Sure enough, he had forgotten to put on a hat. He laughed. "I guess you're right there, Remy."
"Listen prof, it too col' up here for you. Why don' you come down to Remy house and he make you a nice hot cup o' café?"
Charles mouth dropped open. Remy had never invited to anything before, much less a cup of coffee in his home. "Thanks very much, Remy. I'd love to."
"D'accord," the Cajun X-Man said. He diffused the charge from the card, slipped it back into his pocket, jumped off the roof, and tumbled perfectly up into a standing position on the lush grass. Charles activated the hoverchair and descended until he was next to Gambit. They walked toward Remy's guesthouse.
On the way, Charles reviewed the events of the morning in his mind. Remy was a loner, like Wolverine. Although the Canadian often butted heads with the younger man, Logan seemed to be one of the few people whom Remy felt comfortable around. But since his abandonment in Antarctica, Remy had become even more distant with the rest of the team. Whenever he looked at Iceman, Beast, Angel, Psylocke, and Rogue, Remy's eyes showed something Xavier had never seen in them before:
The two men reached the guesthouse. Remy held the door open and Charles hovered inside. Several hurricane lamps glowed around the home. Charles instantly felt comfortable and at ease. He looked around. The interior was cozy. Antique furniture and state-of-the-art electronic equipment were jumbled together, evidence of Gambit's far-reaching interests.
"You have exquisite taste," Charles said. He pointed to the marble mantelpiece above the small fireplace. "Is that vase Limoges crystal?"
Remy's face took on a look of mock indignation. "Of course, it is real, sir!" he said with more than a touch of melodrama. "What else would you expect in de home of de finest t'ief in all New Orleans?" He pronounced the name of his home city as 'New Orleeun', evidence of the fact that English was not his mother tongue.
"I beg your forgiveness, dear sir," Charles played up to the jest, "For a moment, I had forgotten your talents and reputation."
The Cajun nodded and appeared somewhat mollified. "Don' let it happen no more den."
"I promise I won't."
"Bon. Den Remy, he be off an' make de café."
While Remy was gone, Charles looked around the house. Some laundry was piled up in a chair. An empty pizza box was folded in half and placed in the cold fireplace. Charles hovered over to the entertainment cabinet. CDs stood neatly in a shelving unit on one wall. He picked out a jewel case. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: eine kleine Nachtmusik. Charles picked out another. Beethoven: Selected Piano Sonatas.
"Find anyt'in' interestin'?"
Charles spun his chair around and saw Gambit. The young man stood next to the coffee table, a silver coffee service in his hands. He laid it on the table and distributed two bone china coffee mugs and a plate of croissants.
Charles blushed a deep shade of red. "I, uh, was just. . ."
Remy put a long, elegant index finger to his lips. "Shh," he said,"it all right. Remy jus' teasin' chere. Now come over and have you café."
Charles pulled up to the table. He felt like a child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar by an indulgent parent. Remy filled his cup with a strong French roasted blend.
"Milk an' sugar?"
"Yes. A drop of milk and one sugar, please," Charles answered.
Remy prepared the coffee and handed the cup to Charles. "If you want a croissant, dere's butter, marmalade and strawberry jam. Help youself."
Charles did, and popped a piece of the jam and butter laden pastry in his mouth. He closed his eyes and savored the taste. He sipped his coffee and looked at his host, who smiled to see the enjoyment on Charles' face. He tasted his own coffee before he spoke.
"Why you look so surprised at Remy music, heh?"
"Well, Remy, to be honest, I did not expect to find classical music in your collection."
The Cajun bit into his own croissant and swallowed. "Remy like classical music. De Baroque, like M'sieur Bach, got all de perfection but no soul. De Romantic period, like Messieurs Wagner and Mahler got all de soul, but ain't half as delicately beautiful. Mozart an' Beethoven, dem two hommes got soul an' perfection bot'. As perfect music as Remy ever have to pleasure to hear."
Charles' jaw dropped open a little at Remy's surprising knowledge of music history. He had problems remembering the periods, styles, and composers, and he had been listening to it since College. Remy LeBeau was certainly far more than he seemed. "It appears I have underestimated you yet again, Remy," he said.
"You ain't de first, an' you won't be de last to do dat," the younger man said.
They finished their coffee and croissants in silence. Charles found himself drawn once again to the red-haired mutant's face. He hadn't shaved in a few days. Auburn stubble dotted his jawline, chin and upper lip. Charles felt an almost overwhelming urge to lick it, but forced the image out of his mind. Remy's eyes, though dark and crimson, were expressive, his nose aquiline. His long mouth boasted sensuous, slightly full lips. The best for kissing, said some deep instinctive part of Charles' brain. The founder of the X-Men felt the familiar stirrings of arousal and fought them down. Stop it! he hissed at himself.
"You okay, chere?"
"Fine, Remy. Just fine, thank you."
"You need to lie down?"
Charles swallowed hard. He felt faint and was afraid he would pass out in Remy's living room. "Yes. I believe I should."
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Gambit was at Xavier's side. He reached into the hoverchair and scooped the professor up into his arms. Charles clasped his hands behind Remy's neck as he was carried down the hall and into the younger man's bedroom. Gingerly, Remy laid him on his bed, as if Charles were a rare, priceless, and fragile treasure. He flicked on the bedside lamp, left the room, and returned with a glass of water. Charles sat up and placed a pillow behind his back. After he propped himself up against the headboard, he sipped some water. Remy sat down beside him.
"Thank you again," Charles said.
"Pas de problem, mon ami."
Gambit took the glass and placed it back on the night stand. He was so close,
Charles could smell his after shave. His senses swam in the heady scent. Remy
leaned in close to him, his face inches away from Xavier's.
"You let Remy know if dere's anyt'ing else he can do for you, okay?" He turned and went to stand.
Charles hand reached out and cupped the other man's jaw. "Please, don't leave. I need you to stay with me."
Remy looked at his boss. Charles gazed into the deep pools of crimson and looked down at Remy's lips. He leaned up from the headboard and brushed those lips with his own. When the kiss ended, Gambit smiled his half smile and looked at his employer.
"You sure you wan' start dis, chere?" he asked. His eyes sparkled with mischief.
"No," Charles replied,"but I know I don't want it to stop."
Charles needed no more encouragement. He pressed his mouth firmly on Remy's. the Cajun parted his lips, giving him access to the inner recesses of his mouth. Charles explored the wet smoothness with his tongue and moaned when he felt the kiss returned.
He felt a cool draft and opened his eyes. Remy had raised his sweater. He ran his hands up and down the now bare chest. He squeezed the pectorals and pinched the nipples. He kissed his neck and traced his collarbone with the tip of his tongue.
"Help me get undressed," Charles said, his voice a hoarse whisper.
"You wish be my command," Remy said.
He turned himself around on the bed and undid Charles' belt. Expert fingers unzipped the jeans and slid them, along with a pair of white cotton briefs, down past Charles' hips and thighs. Remy walked to the bottom of the bed. He pulled off Charles' shoes and socks, then yanked the jeans off one leg at a time. He kicked the clothes into a corner of the room.
Charles pulled his cable knit sweater off and threw it aside. He lay back against the headboard. Now completely naked in front of the one X-Man he knew the least about, Charles felt vulnerable. His heart pounded in his ears. What did Remy think of him like this? Would he be disgusted by the useless legs that lay on the mattress like the dead weight they were? Remy was young, healthy, vital. How would he react?
Remy whistled. "You got one fine lookin' body, toi."
"Really?" Charles asked, so surprised his voiced squeaked like an adolescent's.
"Oui," the Cajun answered, "now let us see what we can do wit' dis, neh?"
Remy approached the foot of the bed and placed a hand on each of Charles' feet. "Remy gonna move he hand up you leg. You tell me when you can feel de touch. Dat way, I don' waste time messin' wit' part you can' feel." He winked.
Charles swallowed hard. "O...okay," he said.
With that, the younger man slowly ran his hands up Xavier's legs. Charles said nothing until both hands reached his upper thighs. "Right there," Charles said, his voice a whisper.
Remy smiled. "Good," he said, "you got feelin' in de mos' important places." He winked. "Now, Remy can have some fun."
He continued to caress upward until his hands reached Charles' groin. Once there, his left hand stroked Charles' shaft while his right hand massaged the full scrotum beneath it. Charles' breath caught in his throat. In hardly no time, his penis surged to full erection.
"Been a while, chere?" Remy asked.
"You could say that."
"Pourquoi?" "Let's just say that some people don't think the disabled have the same sexual drives as the able-bodied."
The young man drew down his eyebrows and frowned. He shook his head. "Dat don' make no sense to Remy," he said,"you be intelligent, compassionate, an' not to mention riche." He grinned. "You also got full function an' feelin' in de mos' important extremity."
Remy traced the head of Xavier's penis with his thumb and brought some of the clear fluid from its tip to his mouth, where he sucked it off. Charles groaned. He watched as Remy climbed up on the bed beside him, knelt down, and took him in his mouth.
Charles opened and closed his jaw. Ripples of pleasure flowed through him as Remy pleasured his most private part with lips and tongue. The Cajun reached up and rolled Xavier's nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. They stiffened at the touch and sent bolts of electricity through Charles.
"St . . . st . . . stop!"
Remy looked up, his mouth still locked on the penis. "Mmmmmph?"
"Because I can't take much more of that, LeBeau."
Remy shook his head and returned to his business. His hands roamed freely over the nude body beneath him. They stayed within the boundaries of sensation that the two had earlier established. He pinched, tickled and tapped his way along Charles' thighs, chest and arms. Charles felt his insides tighten and knew his climax was near. Remy stopped and sat up on his heels. Charles' member was almost as red as the Cajun's eyes.
"What are you doing?" Charles squeaked. "Don't stop!"
"Make you mind up, chere," Remy teased. He leaned over Charles and opened the drawer of the night table. He took out two condoms and a tube of lubricant.
"What are those?" Charles asked.
"Somet'in' to spice up dis party."
Charles frowned. "What do you plan on doing with those things?"
"Les' jus' say Remy gonna get to know you a whole lot better."
Realization dawned on Charles. He pushed Remy away. "I hope you don't think you're going to . . . to . . ."
The Cajun laid down and ran his hand over Charles' chest. "To what?" he asked. "Screw you?Non, dat ain't what Remy was t'inkin' at all."
Remy stood up and undressed. He cast his clothes aside and returned to the bed. He pulled Charles up on him and traced his index finger along Charles' right ear. Charles looked down into twin pools of smoldering crimson.
"Remy, he wan' you to 'do de deed'."
Xavier's jaw dropped open. "I'm not sure I can do that. I mean, you see, I've never . . ."
"Been intimate wit' a homme before."
Charles nodded, and Remy laughed. The sound cascaded over the professor. "Don' you worry none. Same train, differen' track is all. You jus' lie down, an' ol' Rem, he will do all de work."
Xavier did as he was told. He was too aroused to do anything else. He needed to relieve his sexual tension, and relieve it soon.
Remy carefully slid both condoms down over Charles' erection. "Double baggin' is safer on dis trip, chere," he said, in answer to Charles' unspoken question.
Could Gambit read minds? Charles wondered. He knew that Remy had some empathic ability that allowed the Cajun to sense, and affect, other people's emotions. No tests had ever been done to see the exact nature and extent of Gambit's psi potential. We'll have to investigate that, Charles thought, but not right now.
Charles watched as Remy opened the tube and slathered lubricant over the outermost condom. Then, with one foot one each side of Xavier's hips, the auburn-haired mutant lowered himself onto the other man.
It was the most incredible thing Charles had ever felt. He watched his penis as it disappeared into the younger man. When Remy was able to sit on Charles' pelvis, he opened his eyes and looked directly at Charles. His crimson irises were dark and smoky with desire.
"You ready, bébé?"
"Den bring it on."
Charles reached down and cupped Remy's firm, rounded buttocks in his hands. He bounced Remy up and down. The younger mutant threw his head back; his hair spilled past his shoulders. Sounds of pleasure echoed in the room, accompanied by the slap of skin on skin and the squeaking of the bed. Charles felt the familiar tingle in his scrotum and increased his rhythm. Remy reached down and stroked himself as Charles thrust up from the mattress. Sweat poured from both men. Charles felt his orgasm build like a vise that slowly closed over his chest.
"Dat's it, c'mon prof, C'MON!"
White light flashed behind Charles' closed eyelids. He held his breath as the wave of release crested, then exhaled loudly as bliss crashed over him. He felt Remy's muscles tighten as the Cajun's desire reached its own flashpoint. Joy flooded Charles' senses - happiness beyond description. Remy had used his empathy to experience and broadcast both orgasms. The emotion exhausted him and he collapsed on top of Charles.
Xavier held him like that. He stroked Remy's hair and ran his fingers along the vertebrae in his back. After a while, Remy got off and stretched out next to Charles.
Charles opened his arms. "Come here," he said.
Remy entered the embrace and rested his head on Charles' chest. Charles savored the intimacy they had just experienced before he broke the silence of contentment.
"Remy, why did you come back here?" he asked. "Why not go somewhere else when you left Antarctica?"
Remy leaned up on his elbow and looked at the professor. "Didn' have nowhere else to go," he replied. His eyes were bright with unshed tears. Charles hugged him tightly. Most of the time, Remy appeared to be laid back and distant, as if nothing ever bothered him. At that moment, though, he sounded like the lost soul he truly was, the outsider who desperately wanted a place to belong and something to belong to. Charles kissed his hair.
"I'm glad you came back."
Remy glanced away then looked back at him. "So am I, mon amour, so am I," he said. He brushed Charles' lips with his fingers then cuddled in the older man's arms.
Xavier lay still. Remy's breathing eventually evened out and he extricated himself from the embrace, laying Remy's head on its own pillow. He pulled the covers over them, but couldn't fall asleep. In no way did he regret what happened between them. Remy saw him as a man, neither a non-sexual intellectual idealist, nor someone to be pitied less than whole. He looked at the sleeping Cajun's face, angelic in slumber.
"What will we do now, Remy?" he whispered.
His thoughts swirled. What could he do? Charles was not the type to have one night stands., but did he really want a relationship with the volatile X-Man? His mind screamed objections: Remy was much younger, Remy was a person who craved affection deeply enough to use his body to get it, Remy was a student. These were all completely logical points, Charles admitted to himself, but the heart often doesn't care about logic. Charles felt physically and emotionally contented in Remy's bed. "Enjoy this moment, Charles," Xavier said softly, "who knows when you'll feel this happy again?"
The sky had turned from black to pale blue. The sun was rising. Charles yawned and stretched his arms over his head. There would be time enough to analyze this morning's events. Remy turned away from Charles, and Xavier curled into the younger man's back.
"Sleep well, Remy," he said.
The Cajun snored lightly. Charles dozed off, his arm wrapped around Remy's waist as if the Louisianan was a precious treasure he never wanted to lose. Sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, bathing the two men in light . . .
. . . and warmth.