Disclaimer:Standard I own nothing but my own imagination, etc, etc.
A X-Men Fanfiction
Written by RogueMoon
Pygmalion was a sculptor who fell in love with own creation, an ivory statue of such beauty and perfection that in the light of the moon it could be mistaken for a living being. So in love with his creation was he, that he presented her with gifts and fine clothing and gave her the most splendid bed of feathers and silk to lay upon. In his mind he knew that were she real, she would love him as much as he loved her. And so he prayed to Aphrodite to give him his wife and make her real. So moved by his love and devotion, the goddess granted him is wish and Galatea became flesh. But he forgot to ask for her love in return and she fell in love with another and could never forgive her creator for keeping her.
The creature strapped to his operating table was perhaps the most glorious being he had ever seen. Nearly perfect, made that way by design. His design. His greatest creation thus far.
Sinister adjusted the straps holding Gambit's head still and took a moment to admire his work. All too soon the man would awaken and force the doctor to play the game once more. Essex smiled to himself, pride and pleasure at his art returning to him after being thought lost for so long.
Apocalypse was a cruel master and when the child had first gone missing, Sinister had thought him dead. Decades of work destroyed by carelessness in hiding the evidence and location of his finest design yet.
But several years later he heard a rumor amongst his contacts in the Thieves Guild, of a child possessed of amazing skill and ability even for a mutant. And he made a deal to retrieve a journal lost to him. Nothing he really cared about, but it gave him the opportunity to meet the young man. The young Remy LeBeau.
His creation lived and what's more, he thrived. His body was better than the doctor had given himself credit for, his mutation, despite the eyes, unparalleled. Nearly perfect. And while it was a pity the body had clearly developed a mind of its own and could not be easily superseded by the doctor's, any offspring the child had would hold the correct genetic material needed to create the perfect being. If he could simply get a strong enough hold on the boy to guide his breeding.
But then Sinister met the man Remy became in the years between his first mission for the journal and the present. And Sinister found himself conflicted. He wanted more for the man than to merely guide his breeding. He wanted to possess him, to have the perfection of his creation near him and working for him and returning his appreciation.
Sinister felt desire for the first time since his transformation. Not the desire to create or learn or pursue his research, but the desire of the body to take and own another in the most primal manner. He could ignore the feelings easily enough, but it surprised him that he felt at all. His transformation had purged him of all emotion. He couldn't, shouldn't feel.
And yet, looking down on his creation, that desire welled up inside him and he found he didn't want to stop it, didn't want to suppress the emotion. He wanted to feel it, to remember what feeling was like. He wanted to let his body react and take the man. To mate without possibility of breeding, to never again allow another to know what that body felt like in such an intimate manner. Wanted to indulge the pointless desire.
Remy stirred, his eyes opening slowly. Sinister leaned over and pulled one eye lid up and found the red on black eyes dilated. The man was still feeling the effects of the anesthetic. The doctor removed his hand and nodded to himself, the desire within him firmly pushed aside and replaced with cool professionalism.
A soft groan escaped the full lips of his creation, followed by a quiet question.
"You'll be released as soon as I determine there are no adverse effects to your system," Sinister replied.
Remy tried to nod and found he couldn't, then muttered what sounded like an affirmative.
Essex checked his equipment and took notes on their readouts as well as the man's actions and reactions as he sobered, pleased to see that he was recovering quickly. And why shouldn't he be, he thought to himself. Remy's DNA was the finest ever created. God couldn't do better if such a being actually existed.
Sinister no longer believed in God, only the truths provided by science. Sinister could be considered a god. He had created many men, many lives, many imperfect beings. And Remy was his finest.
The desire returned unbidden as Gambit sighed, doing little to hide the physical pain he felt. Essex smiled broadly and chuckled to himself as he began undoing the straps around the shaven head, "I apologize for the pain, but it should dissipate and be gone entirely in several days time."
Remy muttered an acknowledgment and winced as he shook his head, aborting the action when the pain flared.
"Ah yes, you should try to keep your head still."
"Could have warned me sooner," the young man murmured, shutting his eyes, much more coherent now.
Sinister chuckled again, running his hands over the man's skull. Gentle and strong as he felt the stitches once more, admitting to himself that some of the concern was born of his desire to touch his creation and feel the near perfection with his own two hands. To once more assure himself that this was real, that he was real.
He must have paused in his inspection because he caught Gambit's eyes staring up into his with an odd expression on the sculpted face. Sinister raised and eyebrow and pressed along the stitches, earning a hiss of pain from the man.
"This will be tender for several days. Be very careful of how you sleep and how you turn your head. Any sudden movements could pull them out." The doctor began removing the arm restraints, "I have already prepared a room for you to stay in during your recovery. I will be checking on you every few hours for the first day and once a day for the next five. If all goes well, you should be able to return to your regular activities by next week."
"Dat's good," Remy replied, accepting the hand that helped him sit up and then stand. He leaned heavily against the doctor, voice quiet, "Desole. Bit dizzy."
"You are still under the effects of the anesthetic, it will be out of your system in the next hour," Sinister replied, helping the man walk and leading him out of the operating room to the one he would be staying in. Once there, he helped Remy lie down and covered him to ensure his body stayed at a proper temperature. "You should stay in bed until I bring your first meal."
Gambit shut his eyes and lifted a hand in lieu of nodding. The doctor left quietly, returning to the operating room to clean up, beginning to feel frustration at himself over the surge of desire that raced through him at his creation looking so vulnerable.
Four hours later, Sinister brought a tray with a simple meal that wouldn't upset Remy's stomach if eaten slowly. He found the man already sitting up in bed, waiting. Thankfully he had the sense to keep himself wrapped in the blankets.
The doctor frowned at him and received a smirk and a shrug in return as he placed the tray on the small bedside table.
"You said I should stay in bed, not how I should stay in it," the thief said with a cheeky grin, scooting over to better reach the food. Sinister sat in the only chair the room boasted and watched the man feed himself, occasionally gripping his wrist and holding a bite back for a few seconds so he wouldn't eat too fast. Remy looked annoyed when this happened but wisely said nothing.
The doctor found himself having to pull his hand away, the emotion becoming troublesome and pushing him to keep contact for longer periods of time. Pointless. And yet...
Once the meal was finished Sinister stood and walked to the edge of the bed, hands reaching out to gently grasp Gambit's head and pull it forward. He examined the stitches and did his best to ignore how his blood pounded through his veins at the unbidden image of forcing himself into Remy's mouth, which hovered so conveniently at waist level. He forced himself to let go of the man and step away, pick up the tray and leave.
After closing the door on the man, the doctor examined the emotion within him. Studied how it ebbed and flowed at various thoughts and images concerning his creation. A mental symptom bleeding over into physical urges.
He was attracted to the perfection of the DNA. Not entirely perfect, but so very close. Attracted to the knowledge that he had created it, created him. Attracted to the idea of utterly possessing that creation, of forcing the man to acknowledge him as his creator and the one to whom he owed his very life and soul. Forcing it in a manner the other man could understand.
Sinister turned around and entered the room again. Remy was laying down, blankets huddled around him. He looked up at the doctor, confusion evident, "Either I fell asleep and missed a few hours or dere's something dat you need."
Essex smiled, "Its not so much something that I need, LeBeau, as something that I want."
"And dat would be...?"
"It is most odd," he began, one hand coming to his chin in thought, the other held behind his back, "but I find myself physically attracted to you."
Remy's mouth fell open in blatant surprise.
"Yes, exactly. I admit that was my same reaction when I realized what I was feeling. So my issue it thus: I want to touch you intimately and at the same time, I am aware that I should not be having such desires."
"You don't think de issue is whether or not I'm willing ta let you touch me?"
Sinister chuckled and waved one hand, dismissing the question as he sat down in the chair once more, "If I indulged my emotions and allowed them to overwhelm and rule me, you would have little choice in the matter, I assure you. It is more an intellectual dilemma. As I said, it it not so much what I need as what I want. I find myself at an impasse over how to handle this. It has been quite some time since I have felt anything close to this."
"So you just figuring out you gay, den?" Remy sounded like he was trying to be pleasant.
Sinister dismissed that question with another wave of his hand, "Sexual orientation has nothing to do with the issue."
"From where I be sitting, it sure sound like it do. Considering I be de one you're talking about."
"I assure you it has little bearing on the situation. Were you a woman, I would still be undergoing this minor inconvenience in thought patterns."
"Okay, den, what does have bearing on de subject?"
The doctor looked him in the eyes, desire pouring out of him, "Your DNA. It is poetry on a genetic level and I am drawn to it like a moth to a flame, to use a commonly understood cliché."
Remy laughed, doing his best to cover his unease, "Dat's a line I got ta remember for de future."
"I am surprised at you, LeBeau."
"Your reaction. You are clearly uncomfortable with the idea of physical intimacy with another man, yet you do not seem outright disgusted with it and are discussing the issue with me with apparent ease instead of attempting to shut the conversation down as many in your situation would be."
Gambit looked away and wrapped the blankets tighter around his body, "I'm more familiar wit' de topic dan I like and I'd like ta leave it at dat."
Remy's expression hardened, "You could stop sounding all clinical about de subject and jus' leave it alone like I asked ya to."
"I could, yes," Sinister agreed, amusement lacing his voice. "Are you worried that I will attempt similar actions against you?"
Gambit was quiet a long time before finally shaking his head, "Non. Ya already said dat if it were going ta happen, ya wouldn't be talking ta me about it. Ya seem to be more into de why o' de matter dan de action of it."
The doctor steepled his fingers, elbows on the table as he leaned forward, "So was it rape?"
"Non," the man replied. "Well, only de first time. After dat I learned I could make some decent money off de perverts when I couldn't pick enough pockets ta meet de quota. Before I joined de guild."
"So it's a psychological hesitation rather than a physical one. You are perfectly capable and willing to act in such a way when necessary, but due to the circumstances of your learning about it, you associate unpleasant memories with it and it affects you emotionally when the topic arises unexpectedly. Correct?"
"Do ya have a degree in psyco-babble too? Or do ya just like to hear yourself talk?"
"Both, though the correct term is psychology."
Remy laughed and looked back at Essex, meeting his eyes, "You a sick man."
"So I've been informed."
"Tell me somet'ing, Doctor. If I let you... how did you put it... 'indulge your emotions' in dis matter, how much o' my debt ta you would it be worth?"
"So the thief would become a whore?" It sounded so rude on the surface, but there was no bite to it, just simple curiosity.
"We all whores on some level, homme. Me, I normally sell my thieving skills. Its still selling what I got."
"How much do you value your physical prowess to be, LeBeau? How much of your debt do you believe it would be worth?"
Remy leaned back and thought about it, clearly weighing his actual abilities and sense of self-worth with what he'd already been asked to do in repayment. "Half," he finally decided.
Sinister raised an eyebrow.
Gambit smirked at him.
The doctor rose and went to the door, "I will put it under consideration. Get some sleep, LeBeau, and go easy on the stitches."
A week later he had his creation pinned beneath him. The supple body moving like liquid silk against his own. Lifting to fit into his every curve, hands gripping his back and forcing their bodies closer, ever closer.
Sinister's lips pressed hard against the other man's, tongue forcing its way into an eager and otherwise willing mouth. Tasting him and dominating him as his hands curled into the sparse brown hair that had started to grow back. Careful of the stitches, tilting his head back, lips and teeth biting into the long neck.
A moan of pure lust escaped the doctor and he reveled in the feeling. The sheer emotion as his dick, hard and hot and sensitive, rubbed against Remy's. Desire surged through him, riding like waves over his pounding blood.
Pale hands gripped tanned shoulders and pulled the long, lean chest upward. Black lips met a taunt, pink nipple. Tasted it. Wanted to taste every inch of the muscled body beneath him.
Remy's hands gripped his black hair, normally so perfectly slicked back but now falling in a shoulder length mess. His fingers tugged at the hair, forced Sinister's head up to once more have lips crush against lips.
Gambits' legs were spread now, knees drawn up on either side of the doctor's waist, hips thrusting upward in the need for friction. For touch. Pale hands moved down the tanned back, grasping the firm ass and lifting it in time with the thrusts.
Sinister's head moved, pulled away from those heady lips and downward. Kissing and licking and biting as he journeyed lower, dipping into the navel and drinking the sweat beading there like honey. Remy groaned in response, fingers tangling further into the mess of black hair. The doctor chuckled against him and allowed his mouth to settle over Gambit's dick.
The thief's hips thrust upward and his hands pulled Sinister's head downwards, an unthinking response to the stimulation at hand. The doctor would have none of it and dug his fingers into the writhing hips, holding them steady with an unexpected strength.
His mouth lowered agonizingly slow, tongue twirling in little circles along the hard length of flesh. Remy's hands were becoming more insistent and grabby, grunts and moans of pent up need coming forcefully from his throat. Sinister moved one hand from the now bruised hips and with it grabbed both the thief's wrists, yanking them away from his head and holding them off to one side.
He regretted it slightly, missing the feel of the fingers curled against his scalp but did not release his grip. He lifted his head and allowed his eyes to look up and meet Remy's before plunging back down and taking the whole of the man inside his mouth for a few, far too brief seconds. Gambit's body spasmed, nearly releasing, stopping through only the force of his own will and sense of pride. He never came before his partner. It could be thought of as stupid, but it was his personal rule on the matter.
The doctor's mouth came up and he licked and kissed his way back over the hard muscles and to those lips he couldn't get enough of, pressing his hips against the man beneath him and releasing the thin wrists. A moan of pleasure as the agile fingers found their way back into his hair and pulled his head up to allow Remy access to his neck.
The thief's legs wrapped around his waist and in a fluid motion he was being pressed into the mattress, Gambit above him. He had barely felt the flip and couldn't help but grin as Remy imitated his own actions from moments before. Lips found one nipple and sucked on it as a hand found the other, squeezing and tugging and bringing pleasure to the doctor in a manner he was regretfully unfamiliar with.
The talented hands and mouth drifted lower, tickling his stomach and forcing a groan of longing from him before descending on his loins in a flurry of heat and motion. Fingers wrapped around him and moved in concert with the careful mouth that sucked gently on the tip. Sinister dug his fingers into the mattress to keep from injuring the man. It would do neither of them any good if he were pull the stitches in a fit of passion.
Remy's head began bobbing up and down in a steady motion, tongue sliding over and wetting the hard length of flesh for several minutes before removing his mouth. The man moved forward, settling himself over Sinister and then lowering his body to accept the other man inside him. The doctor found his hands on the thief's hips before he realized what he was doing, body thrusting upward into the welcoming warmth of the other.
Remy somehow kept control over them both, setting the pace and riding the doctor at an ever increasing speed. It was fascinating to him to watch the emotions play over his partners face, as if it were his very first time with anyone else. The control the doctor tried so hard to maintain slipping away with each welcome thrust of Gambit's hips.
The thief leaned forward, changing the angle in a pleasant manner, and pulled Sinister's neck to his lips, wanting his own satisfaction from the encounter, "Say my name."
"LeBeau," the doctor gasped out, unaware he had was no longer in control of the situation.
"Remy," Gambit hissed, "My name is Remy. Scream it. Scream it as ya come for me."
Sinister surrendered to his desire, let himself drown in the emotion, and did as he was told, yelling Remy's name as the orgasm hit.
Gambit lifted himself up, throwing his head back and rubbing himself to finish the deed while the doctor's body shuddered inside him. His own release came within a few practiced tugs, the hot seed spilling on Sinister's stomach. White on white.
It was almost attractive.
Remy grinned at the thought and licked his lips, leaning forward once more and pressing his mouth against the doctor's one last time. It hadn't been the worst he'd ever had and at least this time, he was getting out of a good portion of a hefty debt.
LeBeau was gone. He did his job, gathered the Marauders, then led them into the Morlock tunnels. Then took his leave, deciding the debt was paid in full.
But Sinister was not satisfied with the outcome. He had accepted Remy's body as payment in an attempt to possess and own the man completely. To make him want to return and serve and most importantly: to stay.
Something had gone wrong, though. It was not Remy who desired to stay with his creator, but the creator who desired to stay with his creation. The emotion drove him, pushed at him to find another way to bind the man to him. Any other way.
But Remy was elusive. His prices went up and he always seemed to know when a job was being offered by the doctor. And he never took those jobs.
Somehow it was Remy that was in control of the relationship. Somehow Remy that had come to possess and own the soul of his creator. Somehow Remy that guided his hand by virtue of existing near a goal or not. If Remy was there, Sinister was deterred for fear of pushing him further away. Actual fear of being without even a semblance of connection to the man. He was supposed to be without emotions, supposed to be in control.
He could never let anyone find out the truth, for that would truly be the end of Sinister.