FIC: Delivered Part 9
Title: Delivered Part 9
Pairing: Remy/Sabretooth, Remy/Wolverine
Author: Toggledog
Rating: FRAO
Warning: Rape, angst, recovery, eventual Wolvie comfort
Also-Spoilers for Wolverine.
Summary: Before Remy escapes the mutant laboratory, Sabretooth makes a deal with Stryker in return for his services. Set in movie-verse. You could argue getting into AU territory
Author’s Notes: Thanks to everyone whose r&rd so far. Remy’s song is ‘J’ai pas devant ta port’.
For the first time in weeks, the horrendous assault of artillery fire didn’t jar him awake. This morning, he was grateful for the gradual, serene rise from deep sleep to a waking state. He reached out to pull the body next to him closer, only to find himself gripping an empty cover. Logan opened his eyes. Remy was missing from his bed. Pushing down his disappointment, he climbed out and ambled over to the toilet. It was during his early morning piss, that he caught singing starting from the kitchen, the rustling of dishes.
"J’ai passe devant ta porte,
J’ai crie, ‘Bye-bye, la belle."
Logan flushed the toilet and washed his hands.
"Ya personne qui m’a repondu!
Oh ye yaille! Mon coeur fait mal."
He strode to the kitchen, endeavouring to be as silent as possible, so as not to disturb the gravelled, bluesy tones of the young man’s incredible voice. The scent of pan-fried trout filled his nostrils.
"Moi, j’m’mai mis a bien observer.
Moi, jai vu des chandelles allumees."
A floorboard creaked under his feet as he reached the wall separating the kitchenette.
"Ah, you’re awake, mon cher."
Logan cursed under his breath and stepped into the room. Remy stood over the stove, scooping a trout onto a plate.
"Ah, see now I can’t serve you breakfast in bed. Dat was my plan, you see."
The older man stepped behind him and breathed in his incredible scent. "Smells good."
"Tastes better."
Logan realised he was talking about the trout.
"Remy." He ran his hand through the long strands of his light hair, risking kissing the young man’s neck. Remy put his head back to allow more of his flesh to be exposed to Logan’s attentions. He wanted no more than to plunder the young man’s neck, to feel him writhe and moan beneath his ministrations. Not time, he told himself.
"So, tell me about Remy LeBeau."
The young man handed him a plate.
"What is dere to say?" He followed up with a knife and fork.
"How did you come to be the great card shark?"
Remy shrugged, picked up a second empty plate on the counter and started to scoop the fish onto it from the pan.
"Dere is not much to say. I was initiated into the Thieves Guild at an early age. Dey taught me all I know."
Logan felt there was more to this story but Remy wasn’t letting on.
"And your abilities?"
"Dey started when I was a teenager."
The other man waited.
"And?"
"And dat’s it."
Logan followed him to the table in the other room.
"That’s never just it."
The young man affixed him with a quelling glance.
"Dat is it as far as I’m concerned, grand homme."
Both sat down opposite each other. Logan cut into his trout. Remy looked at him intently as he put it into his mouth.
"Well?"
Logan’s taste buds approved. He nodded, receiving a smile from his partner.
"Mus’ be dificile."
"What’s that?"
"Not remembering your past."
"I remember last night." Logan said huskily. "I remember how good you felt in my arms."
The upper left corner of the young man’s full lips lifted, his eyes sparkling.
"I remember thinking I wanted nothing more than that. A perfect moment."
"Ah so you’re a poet, are you, grand homme?"
"What are you doing to me, kid?"
"I don’ know. What am I doing to you?"
"I don’t… I don’t know if I can trust you. That’s the truth."
"So you are wise, then. I don’t tink I’m a trustworthy person. But I make a good pan fried trout, n’est pas?"
"Why are you here, Remy?"
"I told you. I want Victor Creed. And you can find him for me."
Logan waited for him to continue. The young man rolled his eyes.
"Dat I find you incredibly sexy is an added bonus."
"You don’t seem the kind of person who needs any help from others."
Judging by the look on the pretty face, he more than agreed.
"What can I say? You intrigue me."
"Well, you intrigue me. And frustrate and exacerbate me."
"Moi?"
"And I thought my biggest concern would be terrible memories coming back." Logan murmured. He watched the fork disappear between the full lips.
"If you want Victor Creed, then I guess we’d best be onto it."
***
"Excuse me, sir." The airhostess handed Logan the shot glass. He gulped the whisky down, feeling it nicely burning his throat, then placed it on his folded out tray. The young man beside him had headphones on and was bopping along to music. They caught eyes and Remy grinned, unhooking one headphone from his ear.
"So what happens when we land, mon amie?" His head still swung in time to the beat.
"I’m not sure. I’ll try get my bearings. Take it from there."
Remy looked out the small circular window beside him.
"So, you tink he’s in Canada?"
Logan shrugged. "I just… have the instinct that it’s a good place to start."
He flinched a little as Remy put a hand on his thigh, running it up and down the lean muscle.
"Remy…" He flicked the hand away. The young man shrugged and put his other headphone in. Logan found himself grinning inanely, watching the young man bop this way and that. He reached across and took the headphone out.
"What are you listening to?"
"I’m listening to you, mon cher."
Logan shook his head, put his head back, folded his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.
***
"If you want to keep the swamp rat alive, you’ll have to broker a better deal than that." Victor reached across the black desk to the bowl of lollies, plucked one out and put it in his mouth.
"What deal would suit you?" The man’s eyes went from magenta to plum. Victor wondered if this was a sign of agitation, which, in turn, was a good sign for him.
"At least another ten grand."
"Done."
Both stood. The black haired man reached his hand across the table. His shake was a little too firm. Any other man than Victor would have felt his hand being crushed.
"He is not to be touched, understand? If I see so much as a bruise on his flawless flesh, the deal is off."
Victor inwardly cursed. He had been hoping to go another round with the sweet thing.
"What do you want with him?" The large man asked. The ‘flawless flesh’ comment had piqued his curiosity.
"He is my property. I wish to have him returned to my bed chamber."
This man is certifiable. Still, can’t say he doesn’t broker a good deal.
"Certainly, Mister Sinister. Your property will be returned to you soon."
Victor wasn’t going to add that he had heard strange rumours that his brother was with the swamp rat. If so, that was just an added bonus.
Tbc…