Fic: Blame it on the Fedora (XMM) Gambit, Rogue (rated: NC-17 oh hellz yes it is)
Blame it on the Fedora
Author: Katt xenokattz
Characters: Marie D'ancanto (Rogue), Remy LeBeau (Gambit)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3400
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Marvel. 20th Century Fox also has their fingers in this particular permutation. No money is being made, etc, etc.
Warnings: Fedora-smut. Yeah.
Author's notes: So, the new Wolverine: Origins trailer is out and there is a very nattily-clad Gambit on there wearing a fedora at around 1:30 minutes. This resulted in the following conversation most of which is in flaily capslock of flail. And of course, someone called for pr0n. In conclusion, blame it on lithiumlaughter and mwffj. Thanks to fateschewtoy for beta'ing in the middle of the night.
=^o.O^=
Viva Las Vegas even if you were an ex-mutie with a serious chip on your shoulder. Rogue placed her fist on her cocked hip and looked up, up, up at the neon tower of ostentatious excess and wondered, for the tenth time, why Emma Frost (short may her bitchiness reign) thought this was going to work. Her twentieth birthday was just three days ago and unless you had some serious connections, Vegas was a stickler for the rules. Last she checked, the school wasn't drowning in money, hence the need for Emma Frost, Ice Bitch Extraordinaire. And since she wasn't exactly Donald Trump yet, she needed someone in this casino, hence the need for Rogue to deck herself out in a ridiculously expensive black dress.
Girls ten times more gorgeous lined the street towards the entrance. Girls more bountiful in all the right places, in bright and sparkling clothes with perfect tans. One lithe blonde number stared her down from between her obviously fake lashes. Rogue gave her a withering look and the finger.
"Okay, girl, time to pretend like you've been crazy touching people in the past three years," said Rogue, throwing her shoulders back.
"I'll be right behind you, cheering."
The voice startled Rogue right into character. Her first victim, a little someone to warm up her sexy-vamp on. She turned, sloe-eyed. Then she saw him. And froze.
Rogue liked her guys rough around the edges. Giver her a dirty beater and torn jeans over a suit and tie any day. This guy went beyond suit and tie. He wore tailored everything. His trousers tapered at the ankle. No man should look that sinfully edible in shoes that shiny. The pinstripe vest over the bright teal shirt came straight off the runway. And he had a hat. A fedora. An honest to God, wise-guy from the Prohibition fedora cocked at an angle that could only be called "jaunty."
"Who are you supposed to be, Pimptastic Ken?" Rogue demanded.
He laughed and tipped his hat. He honest to God tipped his hat. "I ain't ever seen your lovely face 'round here. You can call me Remy, chere."
"And what do they call you?" She nodded at the four women clinging to him in various degrees of simper.
"Depends which one of us is on top," one of them said.
Rogue rolled her eyes. "Nice. Well, it's a pleasure to meet you and your STD mascots, Remy--please let me know if they do children's parties--but I've got an appointment with the boss of this place so if you don't mind, I'd like to be back to my business."
"Ain't that a coincidence. I'm the boss of this place."
"My calendar says the appointment's with Henri LeBeau."
"Henri is my brother and he only takes care of our business in the southeast. I take care of this place." Remy gestured grandly to the building. "My skills are better suited to this type of establishment, neh? The Guild is the most popular hotel-casino-club in the strip, mostly thanks to me."
Oh jeez. She was going to kill Emma when she got home. Rogue stuck her hand out. "Marie Jenskott. We have a meeting in ten minutes, Mr. LeBeau, about expanding your business even further east than Lousiana."
"And will you be my liaison?"
"You don't want me to liaise all over you on a daily basis."
"Actually, I can't think of anything I'd rather do." Before she could retort, he said, "Just step into my office. Ladies, the door please."
Malibu Barbie and MyScene Barbie squealed as they rushed to the velvet-plush doors. Before the other two could take their place on his arm, Remy turned his back on them, crooking his arm out for her. Since rejecting it would have been rude and she needed to be on his good side, Rogue accepted. The teal shirt was silk; the sumptuous fabric slid along her bare arm, warm from the heat of his body. Rogue broke out in goose bumps even as she cursed herself. Oh no, not infatuation.
Inside, the club shook with sex, bass and energy. Alcohol flowed freely from the wrap around bars on both floors. The DJ's booth held centre court, lit up in neon above and masked by smoke machines below. Rogue blinked a few times to adjust her vision to the darkness.
"You want to relax a bit before we get down to business?" He had to yell to get heard.
She shook her head. "I'd rather get right down to it."
Grinning-- he never stopped grinning!-- Remy pulled her around the crowd. He wove around the people so quickly, she tripped on the damned stilts she wore as shoes. Her body fell flush against Remy's, the top of her chest sliding down the softness of his silk sleeve on one side and the more textured vest on the other. He smelled...
Holy lord, he smelled good.
Her powers robbed her of two years' worth of touch. As a result, after the cure, Rogue turned into an utter sensualist. There was no taste, sight, sound or texture she didn't want to explore just in case. Just in case the cure stopped working or her powers somehow returned. She wanted to store up a whole whackload of sensations to hold close. Sensations like Remy's cologne and the silk shirt and the bass throbbing through the floor and up her thighs.
God, she needed sex. The last time she slept with someone was six whole months ago when Pete, pining for the still-illegal Kitty fucking Pryde, really needed to get the edge off his frustration. On the other hand, she had been really sick of using her toys between boyfriends. Fortunately, he'd been proportional to his six feet seven inches so the sex, while vanilla, was satisfying. But Rogue wanted the sex she saw when she closed her eyes, the kind that played in high-def in the brain as experienced by the dozen or so people she'd absorbed. Hard, soft, kinky, tender-- she knew it all and had experienced none. No one she knew could do all those things.
Except maybe now.
To speak to her, Remy pressed his face so close to hers his whiskers abraded her cheek. "You think you can keep up, chere?"
Rogue turned, not leaning back. She read the surprise in his eyes as she replied. "I can take anything you dish out, bub." Her lips grazed his ear.
He rushed the rest of the way to his office. She smiled to herself. One advantage to absorbing all those personalities before was the ease of going into different characters as needed.
"I'm look forward to our meeting then. Ms. Jenskott. It's always fun to get a little verbal sparring in."
"Oh, I don't know, Mr. LeBeau. I find most men, when it comes down to it, can't handle the heat I bring into the kitchen."
* * *
Ninety minutes of negotiations later, Rogue was sweating. That was all right 'cause Remy was too.
"I think we'd be better off setting up another meeting later this week," she said. "We're not going to get any further beating our heads against each other."
"Shoulda known better than to negotiate with a graduate of Emma Frost's Academy of Ball-Busting Business Economics," he said.
Rogue leaned across the table, giving him an amble view of cleavage. "Mr. LeBeau, I don't need to bust balls to get what I want."
His eyes narrowed. "Yeah? What, most days you just crook your finger and smile?"
"Something like that. I'll see you Thursday, lunchtime."
"I don't do lunch. We'll meet at eight for dinner. La Cendrillion upstairs is a five-star restaurant."
"Of course it is, Mr. LeBeau, which is why I'm certain you can afford our asking price."
He held his hand sup. "Alors, enough. No more business talk when your hour was up thirty minutes ago. If you must stay, enjoy the club. I'll tell the bar to put it on the tab."
The rejection was on the tip of Rogue's tongue. She didn't know what made her pause. Maybe it was the memory of his heat when she fell into him on the dance floor. Maybe it was the music which she could still hear faintly through the soundproof walls. Maybe the club itself had seduced her. It had been so long since she lost herself in a crush of bodies. She wanted to feel everyone press against her. Just in case.
"I think I might do that. Thanks, LeBeau."
* * *
That was how Rogue found herself crotch to crotch and ass to crotch with the two men she picked up at the bar. That they were both dark haired and whiskered were utter coincidences of population statistics, she told herself, even as she closed her eyes and recalled Remy's scent. Her arms looped around Boy #1's neck. He pressed soft, wet kisses on her nape. She rode Boy #2's leg and swayed her upper body to the beat, just like the hip-hop song told her to. He pressed the straw on her drink to her lips. Rogue tongued it before taking a sip. She could almost smell him again.
"You enjoying yourself, chere?"
Rogue's eyes flew open. Remy stared down at her, the shadows from his fedora completely obscuring his face. "I was."
"She's got us, man," said Boy #2. "Fuck off."
Remy tilted the hat up. His eyes were red on black. Why didn't she notice that before? It was the fedora. She was going to blame everything on that damned fedora. "She don't want you, boys. She wants me."
"I don't see her dancing with you," said Boy #1.
"Funny," Remy continued, "that she need two of you to try to get what she wants from one of me."
"What makes you think you're in this equation at all?" asked Rogue.
"This." He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. She shivered. "This." He traced the line of her collar bone. She let out a small noise, supposedly inaudible amidst the megawatt speakers all over the dance floor. But his nostrils flared. "Chere, we been wanting each other since we shook hands outside."
The way he spoke made all those memories of hard and soft and kinky and tender and wet and sweaty and hell.
He held his hand out to her, bowing slightly, a little old-fashioned like crooking his arm for her and tipping his hat. "Want to dance?"
Something in Rogue, something desperate for this one time, this one possible chance to feel all of that, made her blurt out, "If dancing's all you want to do with me, I ain't leavin' these boys."
He pushed Boy #2 off and pulled her away from Boy #1. "You ain't doing anything-- not dancing, not kissing, most certainly not fucking-- if it ain't with me."
He kissed her and, oh Jesus, it was exactly like what her mind remembered. There was tongue, yes, but there were his hands too, one gliding up to her neck and the other down to her ass. She spread her legs just a touch and pressed her crotch against his thigh. His cock hardened against her belly and she swayed just like the songs said. She swallowed his moan.
"Come with me," he said and she almost does in the sex way not the walking-to-the-back-of-the-club way which was probably what he meant. Maybe. But the way he lifted her up so she could loop her legs around his waist indicated the latter.
"I'm going to stain your fine, fine clothes," she said as she rocked herself against his stomach. The rougher cloth of the vest rubbed against the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs. She bit her lip and mewed.
"I don't give a shit. I'll never wash this outfit. I'm fucking framing it."
He kissed her again and this time, she felt one hand slip from her waist to go up her skirt. His hold on her dipped. Her crotch mashed against the vest then dragged down, a soft, long burn against her swollen flesh. This time, she moaned.
The sound made him curse. "Fuck!"
"We will as soon as you find a door or a wall or something so I don't fall off you."
Remy chuckled. "You're awfully bossy for someone who ain't the boss."
"What makes you the boss of this? Is it the hat?" Rogue plucked the hat from his head and put it on. "Now I'm the boss. Find us a place to fuck, LeBeau."
His red eyes flared with light. "Yes ma'am."
He found an alcove so perfectly tucked away that Rogue was certain it was made for quick fumbles between dances. A heavy, weighted curtain was all that separated the plush bench and its occupants from the dance floor. A wrought iron bar was bolted to all three walls and a single, dim, amber light shone form above. On a low sidetable, a beautiful glass platter served up heaping handfuls of condoms, nitrile gloves and finger cots. The bass still vibrated through the floor.
He lowered her to the bench and pressed along her, stretching her out on its length. She curled her hands around the arm rest and crooked one knee. Before she could squash it, he took his hat back. "My turn to order you around. Don't move, chere. I move you, hein?"
Rogue nodded. Her eyes fluttered closed.
"Keep 'em open," he said. "I want you to watch me." He slid his hand from her knee and up her thighs, dragging the hem of her dress up as well. She was so sure he would slip his fingers under her panties but instead he only traced the garter; his goal was to scrunch the skirt up under her breasts. It was so dirty looking, so porny, turning her on so bad she could come from just the sight of his hand as he drew abstract patterns all the way back to her knee. "You're so pale. Ain't you ever seen the sun, chere?"
"I'm not a tanning type."
"Like clouds or rose petals or something." He pulled her bent knee up over his shoulder.
Then he pushed her panties aside, and his fingers-- oh god oh god how did he know exactly how to touch her?-- slid in and around, stroking through her wetness with disgusting expertise. Rogue moaned and jerked her hips up. He stopped. Why did he stop?
"I said don't move. I got the fedora; I'm the boss."
"Yessir," said Rogue, regressing into meekness.
Nodding in approval, he went back to stroking. He was so good, oh lordy, he was so good, just as good as her mind's memories and maybe even better because he used two fingers and then three and he plunged them into her but also plucking at her clit at the same time and that was some hand dexterity he had, she thought briefly as her body tightened more and more. Eyes wide, wide open as ordered, she watched his forehead glisten and his shirt darken with sweat. A drop of sweat beaded off the tip of his nose and landed just below her navel. She saw his hand moving, wet to the wrist. His three middle fingers disappeared into her; seeing and feeling them at the same time sent all sorts of crazy shocks through her body.
His other hand cupped her cheek. He pressed his thumb against her lips. "Suck it," he ordered.
Rogue opened her mouth and sucked. She curled her tongue around the nail and nipped at his knuckle then sucked even harder. Remy's eyes flashed bright red again and he humped the couch which was so stupid because if he'd just get along with it, he could be humping her. She was so damned ready, so damned close, her toes curled with anticipation.
Then he stopped, slowed down and pulled his fingers out of her. He popped two of them into his mouth. "Like sugar," he said raggedly.
Oh that was just it. Rogue grabbed the hat off his head and jammed it on her own. "I got your sugar right here." She shoved his face between her legs.
She had time to see him grin and murmur, "Yes, ma'am."
His mouth was just as talented as his hands. Maybe more so because his hands were free and they were not lazy, oh, no, sir, they were not. Vaguely, the thought occurred to Rogue that she might actually kill him because she had his head squeezed between her thighs so hard and was thrusting up at his face with a lot of enthusiasm. Seven whole years of enthusiasm since she found out about sex and had to try it on mere boys who didn't know their dicks from a tent peg. Now she had Remy and his incredibly wonderful mouth and she was coming, and coming and coming...
Rogue keened, her back arched, clawing at Remy's back. Silk tore under her nails. Remy surged up, his chin glistening, panting like he ran a mile in half a minute. She tasted herself on his tongue, his lips. He kept on kissing her even as their hands fought to unzip his trousers.
"You're amazing," he murmured. "Where the hell did you come from? You can't ever leave me, y'hear?"
"I will do whatever you want," Rogue promised, "if you just get your fucking pants off."
She had never seen a man move so fast. The pants went off, the condom went on, and he was back on top of her in the time it took for her to think that maybe, just maybe this wasn't the smartest thing she'd ever done. The thought quickly dissipated as he shoved his dick unerringly into her. That much inside her so quickly made Rogue's legs jerk straight. She nearly kicked his fool head off!
He laughed and kissed the inner arch of her foot and replaced it on his shoulder. "Too much?"
"Warn me!" she said.
"Don't have to do what you say. You ain't wearing the hat no more." But he gentled his thrusts, taking his time as he pulled her dress up under her neck now. She wasn't wearing a bra; the dress' neckline wouldn't permit it. Remy moaned in admiration. "You look like moonlight." He cupped one in each hand and pressed hard, suckling kisses on them. "Later. Much more later. Now I gotta... holy ever-lovin' fuck and all his angels, woman, you feel so good! You're so goddamn wet for me."
He squeezed his eyes shut. His movements became more erratic and Rogue got turned on all over again watching him fall apart. His chin was still wet with her juices, and now patches of sweat darkened his shirt all over. She didn't know when his vest came off. She really didn't care.
"When you finish, I'm going to put the hat on you, kneel between your legs and suck your cock clean," she whispered. At his broken groan, she licked him from chin to ear to show him just how neatly she would do it. "Then I'm going to put the hat on me and ride you through this bench. If you make a sound while I'm doing it, I'm going to kick that curtain open so everyone can see what I'm doing to the owner of this fine establishment."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Marie, fuck," was all Remy could say in reply. Rogue felt herself get all hot and shivery again. She closed her eyes and wrapped his arms around him, dragging the silk shirt up so she could touch the slickness of his back. As he shuddered into her, she traced the muscles of his back then, sadistically, dug three nails in hard enough to leave a mark. Maybe even to scar. If she was only going to have one night of this absolutely, mind-blowing sex, she wanted something for him to remember her by.
Then he growled her name and shoved up hard, and Rogue came just from seeing how crazy she'd driven him. She moved with him through the orgasm, the heat spreading all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. A gentle burn rather than the flash fire spasm of the first one.
Afterward, she still rocked against him, lazily, just to keep that faint tingle going. He panted against her neck, his dick softening against her thigh. His shirt was plastered on the bare skin of her abdomen. Funny how much she loved the texture. They'd have to do something with that silk shirt next time. If there was going to be a next time.
Remy reared up on one elbow. "How long're you gonna be here?"
"Until I get what I want from our negotiations," she said.
A slow smile teased up the corners of his mouth. He thumbed some wetness from one corner. "I drive a pretty hard bargain, chere."
"I drive it just as hard, sugar." Rogue reached down on the floor and jammed the fedora on her head.
Author: Katt xenokattz
Characters: Marie D'ancanto (Rogue), Remy LeBeau (Gambit)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3400
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Marvel. 20th Century Fox also has their fingers in this particular permutation. No money is being made, etc, etc.
Warnings: Fedora-smut. Yeah.
Author's notes: So, the new Wolverine: Origins trailer is out and there is a very nattily-clad Gambit on there wearing a fedora at around 1:30 minutes. This resulted in the following conversation most of which is in flaily capslock of flail. And of course, someone called for pr0n. In conclusion, blame it on lithiumlaughter and mwffj. Thanks to fateschewtoy for beta'ing in the middle of the night.
=^o.O^=
Viva Las Vegas even if you were an ex-mutie with a serious chip on your shoulder. Rogue placed her fist on her cocked hip and looked up, up, up at the neon tower of ostentatious excess and wondered, for the tenth time, why Emma Frost (short may her bitchiness reign) thought this was going to work. Her twentieth birthday was just three days ago and unless you had some serious connections, Vegas was a stickler for the rules. Last she checked, the school wasn't drowning in money, hence the need for Emma Frost, Ice Bitch Extraordinaire. And since she wasn't exactly Donald Trump yet, she needed someone in this casino, hence the need for Rogue to deck herself out in a ridiculously expensive black dress.
Girls ten times more gorgeous lined the street towards the entrance. Girls more bountiful in all the right places, in bright and sparkling clothes with perfect tans. One lithe blonde number stared her down from between her obviously fake lashes. Rogue gave her a withering look and the finger.
"Okay, girl, time to pretend like you've been crazy touching people in the past three years," said Rogue, throwing her shoulders back.
"I'll be right behind you, cheering."
The voice startled Rogue right into character. Her first victim, a little someone to warm up her sexy-vamp on. She turned, sloe-eyed. Then she saw him. And froze.
Rogue liked her guys rough around the edges. Giver her a dirty beater and torn jeans over a suit and tie any day. This guy went beyond suit and tie. He wore tailored everything. His trousers tapered at the ankle. No man should look that sinfully edible in shoes that shiny. The pinstripe vest over the bright teal shirt came straight off the runway. And he had a hat. A fedora. An honest to God, wise-guy from the Prohibition fedora cocked at an angle that could only be called "jaunty."
"Who are you supposed to be, Pimptastic Ken?" Rogue demanded.
He laughed and tipped his hat. He honest to God tipped his hat. "I ain't ever seen your lovely face 'round here. You can call me Remy, chere."
"And what do they call you?" She nodded at the four women clinging to him in various degrees of simper.
"Depends which one of us is on top," one of them said.
Rogue rolled her eyes. "Nice. Well, it's a pleasure to meet you and your STD mascots, Remy--please let me know if they do children's parties--but I've got an appointment with the boss of this place so if you don't mind, I'd like to be back to my business."
"Ain't that a coincidence. I'm the boss of this place."
"My calendar says the appointment's with Henri LeBeau."
"Henri is my brother and he only takes care of our business in the southeast. I take care of this place." Remy gestured grandly to the building. "My skills are better suited to this type of establishment, neh? The Guild is the most popular hotel-casino-club in the strip, mostly thanks to me."
Oh jeez. She was going to kill Emma when she got home. Rogue stuck her hand out. "Marie Jenskott. We have a meeting in ten minutes, Mr. LeBeau, about expanding your business even further east than Lousiana."
"And will you be my liaison?"
"You don't want me to liaise all over you on a daily basis."
"Actually, I can't think of anything I'd rather do." Before she could retort, he said, "Just step into my office. Ladies, the door please."
Malibu Barbie and MyScene Barbie squealed as they rushed to the velvet-plush doors. Before the other two could take their place on his arm, Remy turned his back on them, crooking his arm out for her. Since rejecting it would have been rude and she needed to be on his good side, Rogue accepted. The teal shirt was silk; the sumptuous fabric slid along her bare arm, warm from the heat of his body. Rogue broke out in goose bumps even as she cursed herself. Oh no, not infatuation.
Inside, the club shook with sex, bass and energy. Alcohol flowed freely from the wrap around bars on both floors. The DJ's booth held centre court, lit up in neon above and masked by smoke machines below. Rogue blinked a few times to adjust her vision to the darkness.
"You want to relax a bit before we get down to business?" He had to yell to get heard.
She shook her head. "I'd rather get right down to it."
Grinning-- he never stopped grinning!-- Remy pulled her around the crowd. He wove around the people so quickly, she tripped on the damned stilts she wore as shoes. Her body fell flush against Remy's, the top of her chest sliding down the softness of his silk sleeve on one side and the more textured vest on the other. He smelled...
Holy lord, he smelled good.
Her powers robbed her of two years' worth of touch. As a result, after the cure, Rogue turned into an utter sensualist. There was no taste, sight, sound or texture she didn't want to explore just in case. Just in case the cure stopped working or her powers somehow returned. She wanted to store up a whole whackload of sensations to hold close. Sensations like Remy's cologne and the silk shirt and the bass throbbing through the floor and up her thighs.
God, she needed sex. The last time she slept with someone was six whole months ago when Pete, pining for the still-illegal Kitty fucking Pryde, really needed to get the edge off his frustration. On the other hand, she had been really sick of using her toys between boyfriends. Fortunately, he'd been proportional to his six feet seven inches so the sex, while vanilla, was satisfying. But Rogue wanted the sex she saw when she closed her eyes, the kind that played in high-def in the brain as experienced by the dozen or so people she'd absorbed. Hard, soft, kinky, tender-- she knew it all and had experienced none. No one she knew could do all those things.
Except maybe now.
To speak to her, Remy pressed his face so close to hers his whiskers abraded her cheek. "You think you can keep up, chere?"
Rogue turned, not leaning back. She read the surprise in his eyes as she replied. "I can take anything you dish out, bub." Her lips grazed his ear.
He rushed the rest of the way to his office. She smiled to herself. One advantage to absorbing all those personalities before was the ease of going into different characters as needed.
"I'm look forward to our meeting then. Ms. Jenskott. It's always fun to get a little verbal sparring in."
"Oh, I don't know, Mr. LeBeau. I find most men, when it comes down to it, can't handle the heat I bring into the kitchen."
* * *
Ninety minutes of negotiations later, Rogue was sweating. That was all right 'cause Remy was too.
"I think we'd be better off setting up another meeting later this week," she said. "We're not going to get any further beating our heads against each other."
"Shoulda known better than to negotiate with a graduate of Emma Frost's Academy of Ball-Busting Business Economics," he said.
Rogue leaned across the table, giving him an amble view of cleavage. "Mr. LeBeau, I don't need to bust balls to get what I want."
His eyes narrowed. "Yeah? What, most days you just crook your finger and smile?"
"Something like that. I'll see you Thursday, lunchtime."
"I don't do lunch. We'll meet at eight for dinner. La Cendrillion upstairs is a five-star restaurant."
"Of course it is, Mr. LeBeau, which is why I'm certain you can afford our asking price."
He held his hand sup. "Alors, enough. No more business talk when your hour was up thirty minutes ago. If you must stay, enjoy the club. I'll tell the bar to put it on the tab."
The rejection was on the tip of Rogue's tongue. She didn't know what made her pause. Maybe it was the memory of his heat when she fell into him on the dance floor. Maybe it was the music which she could still hear faintly through the soundproof walls. Maybe the club itself had seduced her. It had been so long since she lost herself in a crush of bodies. She wanted to feel everyone press against her. Just in case.
"I think I might do that. Thanks, LeBeau."
* * *
That was how Rogue found herself crotch to crotch and ass to crotch with the two men she picked up at the bar. That they were both dark haired and whiskered were utter coincidences of population statistics, she told herself, even as she closed her eyes and recalled Remy's scent. Her arms looped around Boy #1's neck. He pressed soft, wet kisses on her nape. She rode Boy #2's leg and swayed her upper body to the beat, just like the hip-hop song told her to. He pressed the straw on her drink to her lips. Rogue tongued it before taking a sip. She could almost smell him again.
"You enjoying yourself, chere?"
Rogue's eyes flew open. Remy stared down at her, the shadows from his fedora completely obscuring his face. "I was."
"She's got us, man," said Boy #2. "Fuck off."
Remy tilted the hat up. His eyes were red on black. Why didn't she notice that before? It was the fedora. She was going to blame everything on that damned fedora. "She don't want you, boys. She wants me."
"I don't see her dancing with you," said Boy #1.
"Funny," Remy continued, "that she need two of you to try to get what she wants from one of me."
"What makes you think you're in this equation at all?" asked Rogue.
"This." He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. She shivered. "This." He traced the line of her collar bone. She let out a small noise, supposedly inaudible amidst the megawatt speakers all over the dance floor. But his nostrils flared. "Chere, we been wanting each other since we shook hands outside."
The way he spoke made all those memories of hard and soft and kinky and tender and wet and sweaty and hell.
He held his hand out to her, bowing slightly, a little old-fashioned like crooking his arm for her and tipping his hat. "Want to dance?"
Something in Rogue, something desperate for this one time, this one possible chance to feel all of that, made her blurt out, "If dancing's all you want to do with me, I ain't leavin' these boys."
He pushed Boy #2 off and pulled her away from Boy #1. "You ain't doing anything-- not dancing, not kissing, most certainly not fucking-- if it ain't with me."
He kissed her and, oh Jesus, it was exactly like what her mind remembered. There was tongue, yes, but there were his hands too, one gliding up to her neck and the other down to her ass. She spread her legs just a touch and pressed her crotch against his thigh. His cock hardened against her belly and she swayed just like the songs said. She swallowed his moan.
"Come with me," he said and she almost does in the sex way not the walking-to-the-back-of-the-club way which was probably what he meant. Maybe. But the way he lifted her up so she could loop her legs around his waist indicated the latter.
"I'm going to stain your fine, fine clothes," she said as she rocked herself against his stomach. The rougher cloth of the vest rubbed against the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs. She bit her lip and mewed.
"I don't give a shit. I'll never wash this outfit. I'm fucking framing it."
He kissed her again and this time, she felt one hand slip from her waist to go up her skirt. His hold on her dipped. Her crotch mashed against the vest then dragged down, a soft, long burn against her swollen flesh. This time, she moaned.
The sound made him curse. "Fuck!"
"We will as soon as you find a door or a wall or something so I don't fall off you."
Remy chuckled. "You're awfully bossy for someone who ain't the boss."
"What makes you the boss of this? Is it the hat?" Rogue plucked the hat from his head and put it on. "Now I'm the boss. Find us a place to fuck, LeBeau."
His red eyes flared with light. "Yes ma'am."
He found an alcove so perfectly tucked away that Rogue was certain it was made for quick fumbles between dances. A heavy, weighted curtain was all that separated the plush bench and its occupants from the dance floor. A wrought iron bar was bolted to all three walls and a single, dim, amber light shone form above. On a low sidetable, a beautiful glass platter served up heaping handfuls of condoms, nitrile gloves and finger cots. The bass still vibrated through the floor.
He lowered her to the bench and pressed along her, stretching her out on its length. She curled her hands around the arm rest and crooked one knee. Before she could squash it, he took his hat back. "My turn to order you around. Don't move, chere. I move you, hein?"
Rogue nodded. Her eyes fluttered closed.
"Keep 'em open," he said. "I want you to watch me." He slid his hand from her knee and up her thighs, dragging the hem of her dress up as well. She was so sure he would slip his fingers under her panties but instead he only traced the garter; his goal was to scrunch the skirt up under her breasts. It was so dirty looking, so porny, turning her on so bad she could come from just the sight of his hand as he drew abstract patterns all the way back to her knee. "You're so pale. Ain't you ever seen the sun, chere?"
"I'm not a tanning type."
"Like clouds or rose petals or something." He pulled her bent knee up over his shoulder.
Then he pushed her panties aside, and his fingers-- oh god oh god how did he know exactly how to touch her?-- slid in and around, stroking through her wetness with disgusting expertise. Rogue moaned and jerked her hips up. He stopped. Why did he stop?
"I said don't move. I got the fedora; I'm the boss."
"Yessir," said Rogue, regressing into meekness.
Nodding in approval, he went back to stroking. He was so good, oh lordy, he was so good, just as good as her mind's memories and maybe even better because he used two fingers and then three and he plunged them into her but also plucking at her clit at the same time and that was some hand dexterity he had, she thought briefly as her body tightened more and more. Eyes wide, wide open as ordered, she watched his forehead glisten and his shirt darken with sweat. A drop of sweat beaded off the tip of his nose and landed just below her navel. She saw his hand moving, wet to the wrist. His three middle fingers disappeared into her; seeing and feeling them at the same time sent all sorts of crazy shocks through her body.
His other hand cupped her cheek. He pressed his thumb against her lips. "Suck it," he ordered.
Rogue opened her mouth and sucked. She curled her tongue around the nail and nipped at his knuckle then sucked even harder. Remy's eyes flashed bright red again and he humped the couch which was so stupid because if he'd just get along with it, he could be humping her. She was so damned ready, so damned close, her toes curled with anticipation.
Then he stopped, slowed down and pulled his fingers out of her. He popped two of them into his mouth. "Like sugar," he said raggedly.
Oh that was just it. Rogue grabbed the hat off his head and jammed it on her own. "I got your sugar right here." She shoved his face between her legs.
She had time to see him grin and murmur, "Yes, ma'am."
His mouth was just as talented as his hands. Maybe more so because his hands were free and they were not lazy, oh, no, sir, they were not. Vaguely, the thought occurred to Rogue that she might actually kill him because she had his head squeezed between her thighs so hard and was thrusting up at his face with a lot of enthusiasm. Seven whole years of enthusiasm since she found out about sex and had to try it on mere boys who didn't know their dicks from a tent peg. Now she had Remy and his incredibly wonderful mouth and she was coming, and coming and coming...
Rogue keened, her back arched, clawing at Remy's back. Silk tore under her nails. Remy surged up, his chin glistening, panting like he ran a mile in half a minute. She tasted herself on his tongue, his lips. He kept on kissing her even as their hands fought to unzip his trousers.
"You're amazing," he murmured. "Where the hell did you come from? You can't ever leave me, y'hear?"
"I will do whatever you want," Rogue promised, "if you just get your fucking pants off."
She had never seen a man move so fast. The pants went off, the condom went on, and he was back on top of her in the time it took for her to think that maybe, just maybe this wasn't the smartest thing she'd ever done. The thought quickly dissipated as he shoved his dick unerringly into her. That much inside her so quickly made Rogue's legs jerk straight. She nearly kicked his fool head off!
He laughed and kissed the inner arch of her foot and replaced it on his shoulder. "Too much?"
"Warn me!" she said.
"Don't have to do what you say. You ain't wearing the hat no more." But he gentled his thrusts, taking his time as he pulled her dress up under her neck now. She wasn't wearing a bra; the dress' neckline wouldn't permit it. Remy moaned in admiration. "You look like moonlight." He cupped one in each hand and pressed hard, suckling kisses on them. "Later. Much more later. Now I gotta... holy ever-lovin' fuck and all his angels, woman, you feel so good! You're so goddamn wet for me."
He squeezed his eyes shut. His movements became more erratic and Rogue got turned on all over again watching him fall apart. His chin was still wet with her juices, and now patches of sweat darkened his shirt all over. She didn't know when his vest came off. She really didn't care.
"When you finish, I'm going to put the hat on you, kneel between your legs and suck your cock clean," she whispered. At his broken groan, she licked him from chin to ear to show him just how neatly she would do it. "Then I'm going to put the hat on me and ride you through this bench. If you make a sound while I'm doing it, I'm going to kick that curtain open so everyone can see what I'm doing to the owner of this fine establishment."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Marie, fuck," was all Remy could say in reply. Rogue felt herself get all hot and shivery again. She closed her eyes and wrapped his arms around him, dragging the silk shirt up so she could touch the slickness of his back. As he shuddered into her, she traced the muscles of his back then, sadistically, dug three nails in hard enough to leave a mark. Maybe even to scar. If she was only going to have one night of this absolutely, mind-blowing sex, she wanted something for him to remember her by.
Then he growled her name and shoved up hard, and Rogue came just from seeing how crazy she'd driven him. She moved with him through the orgasm, the heat spreading all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. A gentle burn rather than the flash fire spasm of the first one.
Afterward, she still rocked against him, lazily, just to keep that faint tingle going. He panted against her neck, his dick softening against her thigh. His shirt was plastered on the bare skin of her abdomen. Funny how much she loved the texture. They'd have to do something with that silk shirt next time. If there was going to be a next time.
Remy reared up on one elbow. "How long're you gonna be here?"
"Until I get what I want from our negotiations," she said.
A slow smile teased up the corners of his mouth. He thumbed some wetness from one corner. "I drive a pretty hard bargain, chere."
"I drive it just as hard, sugar." Rogue reached down on the floor and jammed the fedora on her head.