All Tangled Up
Author: Bronze DragonBlade
Sequel: third spinner - follows A View from the outside
RATING: NC-17
CATEGORY: X-Men Slash - Logan/Remy – other M/M, F/M implied
Email: bronze@dreamscapesofbronze.net - dragonbladexx@yahoo.com
Website: DreamFactory ~ Dreamscapes of Bronze http://www.dreamscapesofbronze.net
DISTRIBUTION: Group List – without question, all others – just let me know where.
Disclaimers: X-Men are copyright property of Marvel Comics©. I’m only borrowing them for a test spin in my realm…
Notes:
~ [text] ~ indicate private thoughts.
Summary: Building on the existing theme – Logan/Remy in a relationship. Warren’s interest in his teammates continues. Remy misses Logan and Bobby decide a bit of scheming is in order.
No actual sex, just going’s on...
Special note: This started to get rather large, so I’m breaking it down into smaller sections, which will be posted as they are completed.
All Tangled Up
by Bronze DragonBlade
Magneto and the Brotherhood of Mutants have been quiet; Sinister and Apocalypse seem to have tesseracted off to some distant and silent realm, and even the FoH has displayed a sudden and alarming absence of presence. Things have been fairly quiet - nothing more exciting beyond the typical early morning sessions, and impromptu missions; like the one that has taken Wolverine away from the mansion.
The X-men are comfortable with the slow and deceptive course their lives have settled into; all except the two youngest team members, Gambit and Iceman. Anyone seeing the two young mutants would assume they are as content as their teammates, and to a certain extent, they are. But, there is that little something in both men’s idiosyncratic-makeup, which craves a bit more.
Bobby Drake is an all around natural prankster; he gets high on life just pulling the stunts that keep his friends amused. For Bobby, the repetitive sameness of the days is starting to get boring, and he feels the need for a major stunt.
Remy LeBeau is the embodiment of N’awlins soul – Cajun heat and spice, wild-n-loose nights in the French Quarter, and the cultured, yet soothing burn of Southern Comfort, and periodically needing liberal doses of it to keep his existence balanced. Remy is happily entrenched in a stable and long lasting relationship with the perfect lover, partner, and friend. Logan is everything he could hope to be blessed with, and daily acknowledges that fact.
Life is fraught with true-isms though; things, like people, have more than one facet, one side; and neither is averse to delving into and taking pleasure from their own vast personal pools, like today.
Remy notes the presence of Warren, Bobby, and Scott as he enters the den area. There is a sudden urge to be vindictive towards the other man. Warren has made no secret of his avid dislike of the younger X-man; it used to be a very sore spot for him on the team. The two mutants still continue to give each other plenty of space, despite the noticeable changes.
Gambit fingers the playing card he has in his hand, calling out a distracted greeting as he enters.
“Allo,”
“Gambit,” Scott replies from behind his newspaper. He was sitting in one of the deep leather wingback chairs placed near a corner floor lamp and small circular table.
“Remy, hi,” Bobby called back.
“Gambit,” Warren nodded then quickly looked away, anyplace except into that direct red/black stare locked on him. It made him sort of nervous, not being able to tell what the other man might be thinking behind the patented poker-face he employed. Warren felt something stir somewhere deep inside him, as a lazy smile disturbed the blank look, and decided to stay for a while.
“Warren,” Gambit drawled, smiling. It was almost more than he could take, and he almost let the smile turn into an outright laugh, when he noticed how nervous the man had gotten, as if he had an inkling that Remy might be up to something.
Remy narrowed his penetrating gaze, as he tried to figure out exactly what felt different. He’s noticed the decline in derogatory comments concerning his personality, clothing, and most importantly, his sexual habits. Of course, that could be due to the one and only warning Wolverine found it necessary to issue the winged man after the Twinkie-seduction.
Gambit can feel the long, intense, and heated looks from the blue-skinned blonde Adonis, when the other thinks no-one is watching him. Remy doesn’t need to see Warren; he can feel the other man’s emotions when his thoughts are focused on him. Warren seemed to do a lot of that, lately, watching Gambit, almost as much as he watched Bobby.
Remy watches Warren and Bobby laughing and chatting quietly on the other side of the large, combination Rec and Family room. Gambit smiles as he watches Bobby produce a Twinkie from one of the many pockets on his baggy cargo-pants, and blinks at the sudden flare in both men’s emotions.
~ Puits, I’ll be damn~
In private, at times of startling insight and enlightenment, Remy unconsciously slips into his lightly accented British speech pattern and doesn’t refer to himself in the third-person. His eyes narrow a bit in their intense study as he watches Warren’s carnelian-blues lock in on Bobby’s pink lips, golden sponge cake, and smear of crème filling, as Bobby absently polishes it off and Remy starts to toy with an idea, a solution to his boredom brought on by the absence of his lover.
With Logan around, there is little room in Remy’s thoughts for much else besides the man and his overwhelming presence. Logan makes the thief feel safe and protected, loved and needed; feelings Gambit needs in his realm of existence.
POV: Remy
~17 Days~
That’s how long Logan had been away. Seventeen long days and nights although, the nights seemed longer.
~Merde! De nights get longer an’ harder~
What made it such a drag, was that he was down to his last two cigarettes, that and there was no-one warm and furry for him to cuddle up with on the cold nights.
Gambit looked down at the card he was flipping end over end, back and forth between his fingers. He cursed under his breath and quickly let the building charge drain back into the air around his hand, in the form of mild heat.
~What made me promise ta’ quit smoking now?~
He needed something to do with his hands, something besides charge cards with nervous energy. He didn’t really need, or even want a smoke just then, but the thought of being down to his last two, and having promised Cyclops he’d quit, had him sort of edgy.
~If Logan would just finish de damn job an’ come home, ev’ryting be bien~
His fingers moved over the smooth face of the Ace of Hearts, his favorite playing card.
~Right now, Remy fells like de damn Jack of Diamonds... hard as one~
His thoughts turned to Logan, his wolfen, and the cleverly limber fingers of his right hand began to flip the card back and forth.
~If Logan hurries up and just get’s his butt back here, den Remy can release some o dis tension, and cadge smokes from him. Merde Logan HURRY UP~
“Gambit, go find something constructive to do before you blow us all up,” Scott said from behind his newspaper.
Gambit looked down quickly to find he’d started charging the card again.
“Oh, merde encule, connard, merde mer-” He probably would have gone on too.
“Language, Gambit. What’s you’re dysfunction today?”
“Sorry Cyke,” he replied absently, focusing on the card in his hand, and not discharging it too quickly; that would be just as bad as letting it fall and explode.
“Gambit.”
“Cyclops,” he said back, looking over at the newspaper, which hadn’t been lowered and continued to obscure the other man’s face, but Remy knew there was most likely one of those ‘smug-little-prick’ smiles plastered across it.
“Scott.”
“Remy,” Gambit clipped back at him with a smirk.
Scott took a deep breath, and then carefully folded the newspaper in half, so he could look at his insubordinate teammate.
“Point taken, but you did start it,” Scott told him.
Gambit shrugged. Scott studied him intently for a moment, trying to figure out what was going through the boy’s mind.
~I really need to stop calling him that too~
“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, and get it off your chest, or are you going to continue to be a brat and put us all at risk?”
Gambit put the card into the breast pocket of the duster lying across the arm of the chair. He was now absently rolling one of his last two cigarettes between his slim fingers.
“Hmmm mebbe...” he said softly, his voice dropping down into a husky register, sounding the way whiskey might burn as it splashed past the gullet and swirled down the throat.
“How many of those do you have left,” Scott asked, eyeing the slim dark clove cigarette.
“Two, why?”
“Because if I catch you smoking more than that, you lose the bet... and I get to beat you.”
“Remy’s startin’ ta tink y’ get off on dat Scotty,”
“Oh I do, Remy, I do, just ask Jean if you don’t believe me.”
“Ask me what?” the red-head asked as she wandered into the room. She looked around, searching for something obviously not in this room. Without even waiting for an answer to her question, Jean turned and drifted out, muttering to herself under her breath about things not staying where she told them too.
“When’s Logan comin’ back?” Gambit asked suddenly.
Scott grinned at him then, having discovered the root of the Cajun’s agitation, he unfolded his newspaper and went back to reading.
“He’ll be back when he finishes what he’s doing.”
“Which is... ?”
“Still something you don’t need to know.”
Gambit pouted.
~Lot of good it’s doing m’ he ain even looking no mo~
“And stop pouting at me, Gambit; it’s not going to change things.”
“I’m bored Scott. B.O.R.E.D. Bored an' Remy needs summat ta do,” he whined.
“Too bad, now go away.”
“What?”
“Go Away, Gambit, I’m trying to read. Don’t you have dinner detail?”
Gambit uncoiled from the chair, stretching languidly. He ruffled his fingers through his hair. “Suppose Remy don wanna detail dinner,” he purred, having decided Scott was just as good a diversion as anything else.
“Either that, or I beat your ass now, I won’t wait until Logan comes back and I find out you’ve been cadging smokes from him.” He peeked around the edge of the paper, and then snickered at the look on the other man’s face.
Gambit shook his head and then gave Scott a speculative look. “You’re not ready f’ dat homme,” he told the other man confidently.
“Oh, I’d wager differently... you want to try me?”
And something in his tone, and the look on what could be seen of his face, made Gambit decided not to call Scott’s bluff; not right then, but maybe later.
“Y’ no fun.”
“I know.”
POV: Bobby
Bobby watched the exchange between the two with mild surface amusement. Deep within the glaciers of his cold little mind, he was scheming. Having recognized an opportunity in Gambit, Bobby stepped onto his Ice-ramp Express to pranks-Ville as he watched the lanky thief swagger from the room.
With Gambit’s unwitting help, this was going to be one hell of a prank, but he better hurry and put it into action; if it was going to work, it would depend on Remy LeBeau’s culinary skills.
“Hey, Remy, how’s it going?” Bobby asked as he wandered into the large kitchen.
Gambit was standing at the sink, staring out through the window, onto the grounds behind the mansion. From here, he could clearly see Jean’s hibernating rose-garden, and the paved walkway disappearing in the direction of the boathouse and lake. He was simmering, and just about to head out to find a bit of distraction when Bobby walked into the kitchen. An undecipherable look settled on the Cajun’s wicked features as he turned around to face Bobby. He struck up a casual pose of nonchalance, leaning his rear against the counter’s edge while crossing one ankle over the other and folding his muscular arms across his chest.
“Bobby,” he drawled through his trade-mark smile, while his thoughts shifted to another possibility. Remy had been noticing a few things lately. Things like Warren’s sudden obsession with lil’ Frostbite, and himself, trying to sneak around and eavesdrop on their private conversations, it all made Gambit laugh.
~Quoi, did de homme f’get I’m a trained t’ief? Remy ‘eard ‘is clumsy ass when de homme’s knees hit de floor~
The Cajun thief had known Warren was hiding behind the couch listening when Bobby had been teaching him all about Twinkies...
~an’ de proper way ta eat dem, hmmm now dat was... um, innerest’n~
“Oh, just plannin’ de menu f’ t’nite’s dinner, et tú?”
Bobby grinned, not as dementedly as he wanted too. “Oh, just planning a little excitement, you know me, the Prankster-King!”
Remy chuckled and shook his head mildly at the other’s demented display of a court jester.
“Yeh, an’ wot’s d’velop’in in dat frosty wasteland y’ like ta call a mind?”
“Hey, that’s no way to talk to the only man alive who could’ve taught you the fine art of Twinkie seduction, now is it?”
“Hmmm, guess y’ prob’ly right, Remy still owes you f’ dat, mon ami.”
And remembering what had resulted from his teasing his lover with this knew torture, caused his quicksand mind to slow and linger, as he remembered a very distinctive, and altogether un-Logan-like, set of emotions. Emotions that had been spiraling down from the heights of orgasm, as he and his lover made their way from their little escapade in the Danger Room.
“Why, now that you mention it, Rem, old buddy, I do believe you’re right.”
And neither man could help the mental snicker or the sound of interlocking pieces coming together with a definite *click*, at the prospect of having a bit of fun.
“You didn’ tell Remy what y’ got in mind...”
“Oh nothing definite, but you know me, I’ve always got a few things up my sleeve.”
“Well homme, y’ have fun wit y’ schemin’ Remy needs to get few ting’s f’ dinner.”
“Really, mind if I tag along, I can always use the opportunity to stock up on Twinkies, I’m sure they’ll some at the local Albertson’s.”
“Albertson’s,” Gambit questioned with a shudder, “dat place is worse den Costco. No, we’re going to a Safeway, just let Remy get de keys,” he finished, turning away and heading for the doorway.
“Um, Remy, wouldn’t it be more practical to take something besides your bike? I mean, we are going to a grocery store, space for my Twinkies,” Bobby said, slipping back into his irrepressible-boy-at-heart personae.
“Hmmm mebbe’ y’ right, Remy wasn’t tink’in along dose lines, mais, we’re takin’ Cyke’s car.”
Bobby laughed and shook his head. “Scott isn’t going to give you the keys to his new baby, no way,” Bobby told him.
Remy only raised an eyebrow, he flashed another killer-watt smile as he turned and strolled out of the kitchen. He was back moments later, jingling the key ring on his finger.
“De homme should learn t’ not leave de key where any t’ief can get’em.”
~~~~~
The first thing Gambit did, once he’d settled himself in the grey leather, bucket seat of Scott’s newest acquisition, a brand new BMW 600 Convertible, was to reach over and flip open the glove box. Reaching inside, he rummaged around and grinned as his clever fingers located the outlines of a sleek and slim cigarette case. Gambit actually snickered when the travel-sized bottle of Fbreeze fabric refresher bounced on the carpeted floor boards.
Bobby watched in mildly shocked surprise as Gambit opened the case and plucked one of the slim cigarillos free so he could place it between his lips. Bobby thought it was funny that their team-leader would badger the Cajun into agreeing to quit smoking while his lover was away, and threaten to beat Gambit if Scott discovered him smoking anything more than the two cigarettes Remy was hording like a miser. This was all slightly overshadowed by his shock at discovering that Scott continued to secretly indulge the habit, and that Gambit knew and had also been pretty certain he’d find Scott’s stash.
With the cigarette dangling from the corner of his generous mouth, Gambit tossed the case back into the glove box and keyed the ignition. Bobby leaned down and retrieved the ‘meadow rain fresh’ scented deodorizer from the floor and tossed it back in as well before shutting the compartment as Gambit keyed the ignition.
The two young men cruised out of the garage and down the drive slowly while Gambit let the top down. Once past the main gate, Gambit looked over to make sure Bobby was safely buckled in and then floored the gas pedal, causing the tires to screech shrilly in signal of the thick cloud of smoky ode dé burning rubber filling the crisp, autumn afternoon air.
Bobby continued to hang around chatting to Rem for a while, as the other man prepared his meal. Remy was a bit curious, but didn’t question the company since he and Bobby had always gotten along and hadn’t had a chance to chat lately.
Bobby excused himself after a while, saying he was going to go and hide his Twinkie stash from Hank, and left Gambit to his pot and pans.
While the Shrimp-Creole bouillabaisse was simmering on the stove, and Remy was preparing to put the bread in the oven, Bobby slipped into his office and picked up the phone.
Several moments later, Storms voice came over the main intercom system, alerting Gambit he had a private call and to please take it in the professor’s study.
As soon as Gambit left the kitchen, Bobby snuck in and quickly moved to the simmering pot on the stove. He was just about to lift the lid when he heard heavy footsteps headed his way. He quickly slipped out the other entrance.
~~~~~
The bouillabaisse was a smash at dinner, of course. Remy’s culinary skill was one of the major reasons Scott manipulated the duty-roster so it always worked out Remy had more dinner, and less yard detail, than the others.
Bobby dug into the thick savory reddish Louisiana-style stew with gusto, silently wondering on long it would take before the fruits of his efforts became visible.
Having almost gotten caught in the kitchen, Bobby had seized his opportunity by offering to help bring in the food, at which point he quickly served himself a healthy portion of bouillabaisse and then quickly dumped the contents of a small vial into the steaming soup, mixing the flavorless substance in.
Bobby watched Gambit toy with his food, a bit worried that Remy might be a bit suspicious, but his worries were quickly dispelled when Storm, as usual, prodded Remy to eat.
“Brother, this is a wonderful meal, as always. Why are you not enjoying it as the rest of us are?” she asked.
The sound of her richly cultured tones caused both Jean and Scott to look in the thief’s direction.
Gambit stirred the contents of his bowl delicately. “Remy’s waitin’ f’ de spices t’ settle ‘tite,” he replied.
“Ro’s right, Remy, this is a wonderful meal,” Jean said, “what’s the special occasion?” she queried, indicating the assembled foods on the serving buffet.
Besides the bouillabaisse, Remy had made real-honest-to-god cornbread, from scratch; not that terrible gunk that came from the popular little blue and white box with the stupid, yet apt word Jiffy printed in big bold letters that were supposed to be eye-catching – Tante Mattie would skin him alive if she caught him lowering his standards after all the time and energy expended toward making him the great cook Remy was today. There was also fresh green salad, with slices of cucumber, slivers of radish, onion, and tomato, tossed with a light balsamic olive-oil and vinaigrette dressing, and fresh, steamed vegetables.
Remy chuckled softly, “no special ‘cassion, dis be course f’ de par back ‘ome,” and he raised his spoon to his lips and focused on his food.
No matter what Gambit said; the others, Jean, Scott Ororo, Bishop, Bobby, and Hank, all knew how much effort the young man had put into this production. Upon his return from the market with more bags than anyone thought necessary, Remy had declared the kitchen, “off limit’s while Remy’s burnin’,” and threatened to punish any and all who entered his domain without express consent, by charging their underwear.
~~~~~
Bishop had thought Gambit was joking. He learned the truth, the hard way, when he found the kitchen empty and snuck in to raid whatever was readily edible in the fridge. Remy returned from the strange call, from some nut claiming to have found his lost dog, to discover Bishop at the large stainless steel Amana refrigeration unit – bent over – head stuck in and rear poking out.
Bishop was jerked to a sudden standing position, upsetting the shelf-rack above his head, sending various Tupperware and saran-wrapped items crashing down on top of the shelf below as they rolled toward backward. Gambit had reached out and taken hold of the exposed waistband of Bishop’s size 34 Fruit of the Loom’s and started making due on his threat.
Remy glared at the large, brown-skinned, bearded X-man, as Bishop stared in horror and beat ineffectually at his pinkly, glowing briefs.
“Gambit!” Bishop roared; a sound half-way between anger, disbelief, and no small amount of rising panic.
“Out,” Remy snapped in a no-nonsense tone, brandishing the long-handled wooden spoon in his right hand.
“Gambit! My underwear! You charged my draws boy, you out your last bit of mind!? What’s wrong with you? You don’t use powers against teammates,” the large man tried to rail, while his hands flapped and fluttered comically.
Ororo and Jean, who happened to be passing in the near vicinity, having been drawn by the tantalizing smells and sudden shouting, peeked into the kitchen. Neither of them had had any doubt of Gambit’s willingness to follow through, they knew their foxy-haired, explosive boy, and wouldn’t have dreamed of setting foot in his domain uninvited. From the hallway entrance, Scott stuck his head in as well.
“What the hell’s going on in here?”
“Out. Now.”
“Gambit charged Bish’s undies,” Storm called, her voice full of suppressed laughter.
“Oh,” Scott said and turned to leave.
“Make him un-charge me!” Bishop yelped, having given up on anger in favor of the growing concern for the imminent explosion.
“Homme, Remy tol’ y’ ta stay outta de kitchen, y’ should’a listened. Dat charge is timed released, an’ y’ runnin out, de longer y’ ‘ang roun’ ere’ bee-boppin’ de higher de ‘plosion factor.”
“Meaning?” Bishop was getting frantic now, he hadn’t thought things would actually go this far, and he didn’t know how much time he had left, how much he’d wasted already.
“Ya betta start strippin’ homme,” Gambit told him with a smirk.
Scott, Jean, and Ororo, quickly cleared the exits, leaving the frantic man a clear path along whichever route he chose for flight.
Bishop raced for the door leading out onto the rear veranda and surrounding grounds, tearing at his pants along the way.
~~~~~
With their stomachs full to discomfort, the X-men moved into the large den, leaving the table for other entertainments, the main one being the premier viewing of the new Spiderman DVD, full screen edition. For the 5th time in as many nights.
“How does he manage to always be the one picking the movie,” Scott asked Jean as she folded down next to him on the couch and Bobby popped the DVD into the player.
END