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Working at a dingy bar was not your dream job. Especially not in the part of town where the X-Men frequent. The sheer number of times the bar's roof has been repaired is astronomical. You have to order new barstools and tables at least every other week. Your boss has given up on having nice liquor – not that anyone bought it anyway. Bottles shatter every time someone wants to throw someone else into your bar. Thankfully, the bar itself is sturdy enough not to break. Yet.
The worst part is cleaning up all that broken shit. Broken tables, broken glass, broken pool cues, broken hearts, and once, a broken pair of red sunglasses. It’s like the folks who come to this bar decided to have their own Fight Club, except they just use their powers to blow the place up instead of soap. You have a bouncer, but it’s not like he can sense when a guy is going to start a fight.
You’re not a mutant, but you don’t mind them. You wish they didn’t rough up the place so much. The musicians have to be behind a chicken-wire cage for their safety. The floor is mismatched from the number of times you’ve had holes replaced. But people still come. And you still serve them drinks.
It is pretty quiet today, which is normal for a Monday evening. Only six people are in here, playing pool and chatting idly. You don’t pay much attention to them. You have a few bottles to replace on the shelf, so your hands are full. Plus, they’re not causing much trouble.
“Sugar, you’re gonna have to do better than that!” the Southern belle with the red and white hair laughs. She holds her pool cue like a staff.
“Shut it,” the short, gruff one growls. “I’m tryin’ to focus.”
“It seems the boys are sore losers,” a gorgeous, almost ethereal woman laughs. She has a white mohawk, and you do your best not to swoon over her.
“We ain’t sore,” an obviously Cajun voice replies. You glance up when you hear the accent. You don’t get a lot of Cajuns in New York. He’s a beautiful man, with sharp cheekbones and an even sharper jaw. He has long, shaggy red hair that hangs over his eyes. He’s slender, yet you can tell he’s muscular. You can see his biceps flex under that shirt that’s one size too small for him. Stop ogling the customers, you think, returning to your task.
“I think Jean is cheating,” a man with red sunglasses chuckles. “She can read minds.”
“I can’t see the future!” replies a red-haired woman.
“Lotta red heads today,” your boss notes, setting another box of liquor behind the bar. “These just came in.”
“I think we ought to put a bulletproof glass over the booze,” you note for the millionth time.
“Yeah, yeah, I don’t think that’ll stop them, honey,” he replies. “Besides, we can afford it. People love this place.”
“I don’t know why,” you joke. “Place is a goddamn madhouse.”
Your boss shrugs, giving you a crooked smile. He’s an older man who shares ownership of the bar with his wife. “That’s the point.”
“Well, when I get a bottle cracked over my head, you’ll pay the hospital bill,” you tease.
“‘Atta girl,” he laughs. “I expect no less. If you need me, I’m up in the office.”
“Later, boss!” You wave.
You glance back at the Cajun playing pool, accidentally catching his eye. He’s got the most unusual eyes you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. They’re red like rubies, and an inky black where the white should be. “I think I’m gon’ get another drink,” says the Cajun.
“Don’t flirt with the damn bartender, Remy!” growls the scruffy one. Remy, you think with a dorky grin. His name is Remy.
You freeze like a little kid caught putting their hand in the cookie jar. Remy saunters toward you, then leans against the bar. “Hey there, chère,” he purrs, all charm and sex.
“What can I get you?” you ask, cheeks flushed despite your calm voice.
“Remy, you leave that poor girl alone!” the Southern woman scolds.
“I ain’t hurtin’ nothin’, Rogue,” replies Remy. You shift nervously on your feet. He turns his gaze back to yours, making your heart melt in your chest. God, he’s got the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen. “They always yellin’ at me.”
“What- What do you want?” you stammer, gesturing to the array of bottles behind you.
“Hmmm, a Manhattan would suit me good today,” he drawls. “An’ maybe a little conversation with the pretty lady behind da counter.”
“I can make you a Manhattan,” you reply, “But I can’t promise you I can make good conversation.”
You hesitate a second before making his drink. It’s hard to take your eyes off him. He’s got that… allure about him. Something that just draws you in. Maybe it’s his handsome face, or his body, or his accent. All the same, you find yourself enthralled by him.
“I don’ think that’s true,” he says. “I reckon you’re just nervous.”
You glance at him. Yes, I’m nervous. I’m sure you make every woman you meet nervous, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. “Do your friends want anything to drink?” you manage to squeak.
“Ah, dat’s the tell-tale sign of a woman who’s nervous,” he says, his accent wrapping around every word like a gift. You see him flipping a card between his fingers, the Queen of Hearts. You huff through your nose. He’s being awfully forward. “What a pretty lady like you doin’ in a place that breaks damn near every day?”
“Pays the rent.” You shrug, giving him a polite smile. “Get to meet all kinds of people here.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” he says with a smile that’s all teeth. “Folks like us, non?”
“Yeah, usually.” You nod, handing him the drink. “Not as handsome as you are.”
You can see his shoulders straighten and a flicker of pride in his unusual eyes. “You keep complimentin’ me like dat, I’m apt to ask you out for drinks.”
“You’re going to take a bartender out for drinks?” you tease.
“Well, I was a little too scared to ask ya on a regular date,” he chuckles, his voice smooth as a whiskey from Tennessee.
“You don’t seem like the kind of guy to get scared of asking a girl out.” You lean forward on the bar, so that you’re face-to-face with him. His nose is mere centimeters from your own. And if you cross your arms to push your cleavage up a little, that’s between you and God.
“Not most, no. But you, chère, you are somethin’ special,” he says, lowering his voice an octave.
“I’m just a bartender,” you whisper.
Remy quirks a brow. He licks his lips, and you swear you see him smirk at you. “Just a bartender, hein?”
“Just a bartender,” you repeat, barely above a breath.
“Remy! Get me a gin and tonic while you’re flirtin’ with her!” Rogue – you learned her name is – shouts at Remy. She breaks the moment, but only for a second. Only just long enough for you to hear her speak. Then, the scene shifts back to just you and the Cajun menace in front of you.
“Sure thing, chère!” he calls back. Then, dropping back to that low and sultry voice, “Can you make me a gin an’ tonic, sweet fille?”
You don’t know what possesses you to say what you say next. It must have been from the sheer attraction you feel for the man in front of you. You don’t even think about it before you say it. It comes out of your mouth like it’s been sitting in your throat this whole time. “I’ll do it for a kiss,” you reply.
“Just for a kiss?” he breathes, fingers drumming lightly on the bar.
Your entire body screams at you, too bold! Too bold! But damn, you really want to kiss him. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a little more than a kiss after my shift,” you purr.
“Ain’t a bad deal, ma belle. Ain’t a bad deal at all.” He clicks his tongue. “A lil’ kissin’, a lil’ lovin’… dat’s just my style.”
“Then why don’t you kiss me already?” you ask, though your mind is buzzing with excitement.
He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t give you time to second-guess or take it back.
Remy leans across the bar, slow and sure, like he already knows exactly how this ends. He tastes like danger and heat, like whiskey and want. His lips crush against yours with a hunger that curls your toes, and for a second, it feels like the earth shifts beneath your feet. His hands are warm on your cheeks, thumbs brushing your skin with surprising tenderness for a man kissing you like he needs it to survive.
You make a soft sound against his mouth, something between a gasp and a moan, and that’s when he deepens the kiss, tongue brushing yours like he’s savoring every second. There’s nothing polite about it. It’s messy, a little desperate, and completely consuming. You’re not even sure who leans in first, but your fingers end up tangled in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more.
He chuckles low in his throat, the sound wicked and warm against your lips. “Mmm… you taste like temptation, chère.”
Your breath hitches, heat pooling low in your belly. “And you kiss like sin.”
He kisses you again, slower now, deeper. Like he’s not just kissing you, but memorizing you, like he’s sealing a promise on your lips. The kind of kiss that leaves you breathless, aching, and already counting the minutes until your shift ends.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only by a breath. His lips hover just above yours, swollen and slick.
“You make a man forget what he came in here for, chère,” he murmurs, voice rough with want.
You barely manage a whisper, “Still want that gin and tonic?”
He grins, wicked and unrepentant. “Darlin’, after that kiss? I want everything.”
You make quick work of that gin and tonic, handing it to him with shaky hands. “Shift ends at two in the morning, you think you can wait that long?”
“Fo’ you? I’d wait a century,” he replies, sauntering back to his friends.
The rest of your shift is so unbearably boring that the minutes stretch into hours. Each and every second that passes feels longer and longer. When 2 a.m. finally comes around, Mr. Lady’s Man is waiting outside the employee’s exit for you. He’s leaning on the wall, an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He straightens when he sees you come out of the building. You lock the door, then turn to face him.
“You waited for me?” you chuckle in disbelief. “I thought you were joking.”
“Oui, chère,” he drawls, putting the cigarette in his pocket. “You are somethin’ worth waitin’ for, like I said.”
Remy pulls you into his arms, dipping his head down to kiss you. You loop your arms around his neck, allowing him to pull you flush against his chest. He cradles your waist, hands smoothing up and down your sides. “Remy,” you hum softly, nudging his jaw with your nose.
“Do you want to go back to my place?” he asks against your lips.
“I’d love to,” you reply, kissing the tip of his nose.
Remy gestures to a white and pink Kawasaki Ninja, and it just screams him. “Come on, ma petite, let’s go for a ride.”
“You’d better not crash,” you giggle, climbing onto the bike behind him.
“Gambit never crashes,” he drawls, “Now put your hands ‘round my waist and hold on tight, chère.”
You lean forward, pressing your chest against his strong back. Remy starts his bike with a loud rev, and you clutch to him like your life depends on it. You can feel his muscles through his too-tight shirt, and a heat starts to build between your thighs. He weaves through traffic easily, and you put your chin on his shoulder. Some part of you wishes you both had a helmet, but the other part of you… Well, she wants Remy to fuck her stupid.
Remy kicks up the speed, and exhilaration flows through your veins. You kiss his neck, holding onto him tighter. One of your hands trails up to his pecs, and you feel him tense beneath your palm. He’s definitely speeding now, moving across the streets like water moves through a river. You trail kisses down his shoulder, hand sliding from his chest to his groin. You can feel him grunt, and he gently guides your wrist away.
He pulls into an apartment complex parking lot, whipping his bike into a spot. He kills the engine and guides you off. Remy kicks the kickstand down, practically leaping off his seat. “You are gon’ kill me, woman,” he says, voice strained.
“You’ll die happy, then,” you hum, pulling him down for another kiss.
“Come on, before I haul ya over my shoulder.” Remy grabs your hand. He rushes up the stairs in his building, deftly unlocking his door and revealing an apartment filled with decorative trinkets.
“Whoa,” you gasp. “You’re quite the collector.”
“I got a love for shiny things,” he says, twirling you around like he’s dancing with you.
“It looks like you’re some kind of pharaoh,” you laugh, getting on your toes to kiss him. You trail your fingers under his shirt, rubbing your thumb over his hip bone. “Now, are you going to make love to me or what?”
“Chère, you are bein’ feisty,” he chuckles, shedding his jacket and throwing it on his sofa. You help him out of his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.
To say your jaw dropped is an understatement. Remy is gorgeous. No, no, that isn’t right… He’s divine. He’s an angel in disguise, you swear. You take a cautious step forward. “Oh, lord,” you whisper.
Remy’s confidence skyrockets, and it was already very goddamn high. “You like what you see?” he asks, guiding your touch across his muscles. He flexes as your fingertips carefully trace over his well-built body.
“You are something else,” you laugh in disbelief.
He hums, kissing your neck. “Have you seen yourself, sweet fille?”
Remy trails his lips up your neck and to your jaw, kissing the corner of your mouth. He smooths his hands over the curve of your ass and effortlessly lifts you. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, moaning when he presses you to the wall. “Remy,” you gasp.
“Keep sayin' my name like dat, bébé,” he purrs, slipping his fingers up your shirt. He unclips your bra with ease and discards it at the same time as your shirt.
You half-groan, half-growl when he drags his sinful lips down your neck to capture your nipple in between his teeth. “Bed, Remy,” you gasp. “I don’t want you fucking me against a wall.”
He sighs against your chest, adjusting you higher in his arms so he can keep his nose between your breasts. “Needy thing,” he grumbles, vibrating your skin. Remy lies you down on a bed with black silk sheets.
“Silk?” you gasp. “Holy shit, Remy!”
“I live in comfort,” he murmurs, crawling on top of you. “Now, how am I gonna pleasure you?”
Remy deliberately moves his hips against yours, brushing his clothed cock against you. You nip at his shoulder, trying to hide your moans. His hard length feels perfect against your clit, and you’ve barely started. “I like that,” you breathe, clutching his shoulders like you might fly away.
“We jus’ met, so Remy’s gon’ go easy on you,” he drawls, licking a line up your neck. “Now, tell me, what does a girl like you like in bed?”
“I…” you trail off. You try to recall all your best sexual experiences, but most of them were just… not good. You don’t remember anything you liked, in particular.
“Don’ worry, chère,” he says, sucking gently on your neck. “Gon’ take good care of you.”
Remy leans down to kiss your collarbone, nipping your skin gently. His mouth finds your nipple for the second time, rolling it between his pretty teeth. You arch against him, fingers flying to his hair. He takes his time kissing a line down your torso to the button of your jeans. You try to shimmy yourself out of them, but he takes over and pulls your pants off in one swift move. Remy licks a line from your knee to your pantyline. "Dirty boy," you tsk at him.
He winks at you, the dim glow of his red eyes going completely out for just a moment. "You t'ink dat was dirty?" he scoffs, pressing his nose into your folds. "I got plenty 'a cards up my sleeve, ma douce. Just gotta wait to see 'em."
A soft sigh of a moan leaves your lips, prompting Remy to spread your legs even further. "A thief like you should have some pretty... dexterous fingers," you note, bumping him gently with your knee.
"Mmm, Remy'll show you just how much dexterity he got," he hums. He licks one languid strip up your pussy, from entrance to clit. Already, you're shivering for him. You can feel his smugness radiating from every pore in his body. He knows exactly what he's doing, and he knows that he's good at it. Remy laps gently at the wetness leaking from you, savoring each moment he can taste you. Eventually, Remy's lips close around your clit.
"Oh, fuck!" you mewl, toes curling into the bed. "Remy LeBeau!"
"I ain't even started yet," he says against you, kissing your pussy before continuing his kitten licks across your most sensitive parts. You grind against his mouth, and he uses his strength to hold you still. You can't say how long you're on that bed; Remy teases your clit like it's his full-time job. And then, his fingers find your entrance and push ever-so gently inside you. You moan like a whore, thighs closing around his head like you mean to crush him. To you, it seems he's never been happier to be suffocated.
"Faster!" you gasp. His eyes find yours - God, those gorgeous eyes of his - and lock on. He doesn't break eye contact once, and it only sends your arousal spiking higher.
Remy's long fingers curl against your G-spot with the precision of a man used to ensuring women feel good during sex. He can sense your orgasm approaching, as though he's the one feeling it. "Stop squirmin'," he scolds, but the vibrations of his voice make it worse.
"I-I-I can't," you say between gasps. You are a panting, sweating mess, but Remy loves it. That means he's doing a damn fine job at making this the best night of your life. "Remy!"
"Sayin' my name all pretty," he groans. You tug at his hair, which only elicits another groan from his very soul. His fingers drive you higher and higher, and it only takes a few more lavish kisses and licks to your clit to get you to climax. It feels like the Fourth of July, skyrocketing your senses to the max. Remy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, crawling up to kiss you again. This kiss is ravenous in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s like he wants to imprint the kiss in his very core and carry it with him forever.
“I taste good on your tongue,” you pant, nipping his bottom lip.
“Chère,” he growls, kissing your neck. “I gotta be inside you. Laisse-moi entrer en toi. S'il vous plait.”
“Yes,” you breathe. “Remy, I need to feel you.”
“I ain’t got no condoms,” he whispers, licking another stripe up your neck.
You moan softly in response, “That’s okay... just pull out, yeah?”
“I promise.” He stands just long enough to pull his pants and boxers off. You watch in awe, blown away by the sheer size of him. His cock is hard and red, nearly touching his belly button. A bead of precum gathers at the tip, and you can’t wait to get it inside you.
“Can you cum in my mouth?” you plead, pawing at his shoulders. Remy’s hands find the soft tissue of your breasts, smoothing his thumbs over your nipples. He presses thousands of kisses to your skin before finally grabbing hold of your waist.
“I’ll cum wherever you want me to,” he promises, lining himself up with your entrance.
When he finally pushes inside you, it’s like the stars finally aligned to create this moment. He grunts softly when he bottoms out, the weight of his balls resting against you. “Remy,” you whine, clutching his strong shoulders.
“You feel like heaven,” he whispers, burying his face in your neck. “Mon Dieu.”
“Remy, move, please,” you beg. “Please, move.”
“As you wish,” he replies, kissing your lips again.
When he finally does move, the sensation is unlike any sex you’ve had before. It doesn’t just feel like… something’s inside you. It feels like connection. A connection you’ve never had from a relationship before. “Remy, harder,” you mewl. “Harder, please.”
“You’re a needy t’ing, ain’t ya?” he teases, but he does as you ask. His hips snap to yours in a breathtaking rhythm.
“Oh, yes,” you gasp, moaning each time the head of his cock brushes that sweet spot inside you. You giggle when he rolls you over, allowing you to ride him.
“Oh, you look even prettier up there.” He grabs your waist, guiding your motions.
“You feel so good,” you manage, bracing your hands on his chest.
“You was just complainin’ about how slow I was goin’,” he notes, playfully smacking your hip. “Now look at ya.”
“Well, I’m not as strong as you, Mr. X-Man,” you huff dramatically.
After only a minute or two of riding him, Remy flips you a second time. He grabs your thighs, guiding them to rest against his chest. “Look at these pretty legs,” he says, kissing the inside of your knee. Remy leans forward, forcing your thighs to be pressed between his chest and your own. The new angle makes your vision go black with pleasure. “Oh, you like that, baby?’ he asks, kissing your jaw.
“Yes!” you exclaim, hands wrapping around his wrists.
Remy doesn’t take long to drive you to another orgasm, sending you spiraling. He is quick to follow, adjusting your position so he can kiss you. Your legs move from atop his shoulders to around his waist, which you barely notice. Both of you are so caught up in the moment, you don’t notice Remy’s getting closer. You’re so overstimulated beyond belief that you're barely even on the planet anymore.
His orgasm hits all at once, white-hot and spilling from your pussy. It feels so… perfect, you don’t even remember to be mad. “Désolé, bébé,” he apologizes. “You just felt so damn good.”
“Huh?” you ask, completely fuck-drunk.
“Let me clean it up for you,” he says with a wicked grin.
“Huh- what?” you gasp. But Remy’s mouth is already between your legs, licking his own cum away from your folds.
“No, no, Remy, it’s too much!” you whimper, squirming away. “I can’t!”
“Oh, yes, you can,” he assures you between his little sucks and kisses.
You squirm away, but Remy doesn’t let you. “Remy, it’s too much,” you assert again, already feeling an orgasm approaching.
“Almost done,” he says, pressing his tongue into your entrance.
The third climax of the night has you arching off the bed. Your hands curl into his hair, your toes gripping the sheets. “Remy!” you almost scream.
“There we go,” he chuckles. “That’s a good girl.”
“Remy.” You’re completely covered in sweat, sticking to the sheets, and trembling from the sheer pleasure.
“Look at you,” he coos. “Perfect.”
“You nearly killed me,” you pant.
“That’s what sex should be,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck.
“We should take a shower,” you whisper.
“Oui, I suppose we should.” He hops off the bed like he didn’t just give you the most mind-blowing sex of your life, and easily scoops you off the bed. Remy puts you over his shoulder, carrying you like a sack of potatoes.
“Remy!” you giggle, gently smacking his back. “Let me down!”
“Mais, non! You shouldn’t be walkin’!” he laughs, turning his shower on. Remy shifts you, carrying you bridal style now.
You look up at him like he’s an angel. “You’re something else, Gambit.”
“You, sweet girl, are perfect,” he replies, brushing his nose against yours. He steps with you into the shower, immediately beginning to pamper you. He massages your scalp with shampoo, then moves to wash your body. His hands are magic, moving over your arms, up your shoulders, down your collarbone. He lingers on your breasts, resting his head on top of yours. “Feel good?”
“Mhm,” you hum, leaning against his chest. “You’re making me feel like a princess.”
“Dat’s good.” He kisses your head. “You are a princess.”
The shower makes you feel like you’re on Cloud 9, and you wish it could last forever. But eventually, the both of you are clean. Remy wraps you in a fluffy towel, drying your hair off like you’re a puppy. “This whole… after thing always makes me feel awkward,” you giggle, digging through his drawer for a pair of his boxers and an old shirt.
When you turn around, Remy is aghast. He’s still got a towel around his waist, but it seems mostly forgotten. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers. “Especially wearin’ my clothes.”
Your cheeks flush, and your gaze darts away. “Thank you,” you whisper sheepishly.
Once he pulls on his own pair of boxers, he wraps you in his arms and tugs you onto the bed with him. “Now, let Remy cuddle you all night long.”
You nuzzle against him, seeking his warmth out like a moth to flame. You wouldn’t mind if he cuddled you forever. No, you wouldn’t mind one bit.