Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men and make no money from this

The Birds and The Bees

A X-Men Fanfiction

Written by RogueMoon

Dedicated to Nekobaghira

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He met her in a bar near Fisherman's Wharf. She had the kind of legs that made a man want to climb them and see if they really did lead to heaven. Her hips were full and her waist long and slim, holding up a chest that wasn't too large or too small. Each firm breast would fit perfectly in the cup of his hand. Her hair was black and slick, like oil spilled across the night sky.

All in all, she had the makings of a damn fine lay. Had his heart not been spoken for, he would have approached her before she found her way to the stool next to his. She ordered a glass of red wine and told the bartender to make it the best they had, even if that meant some common vintage you could buy in a box from the supermarket.

That made him chuckle and ask her what she was in for. Her eyes gave him a once over and he could practically feel the predator in her awaken, interest flaring out of dark, sultry eyes. She shrugged and replied that it was probably the same thing he was: a failed relationship or some other sob tale that led two fine specimens of the human race to drink alone at a bar.

He raised his eyebrow at that, the tone of voice and speech pattern familiar, though he couldn't place it. She was well educated and unlike him, looked like she came with a million dollar bank account somewhere in the Swiss Alps. He hadn't met her before, he was sure of it. He had a pretty decent memory when it came to women, beautiful ones in particular. And she was still young yet, couldn't be older than 23, maybe 25.

He went to pay for her drink and she stopped him, laying her hand over his and raising a finely cultured eyebrow at him. She didn't let men pay for her drinks unless she got a real date out of it. He asked her what a real date meant to her. She grinned and told him to pay if he really wanted to find out.

He paid. It wasn't cheating on Rogue, he didn't intend to sleep with her. But he was looking to enjoy his evening and it had suddenly gotten much more interesting. After the drink was paid for she stood up and moved to a more secluded table. He followed.

They sat down and she sighed in that heartbroken manner he recognized. Gave him a wry smile and told him about what happened. She had fallen for this good looking young guy, of course. Asian-American half-breed with a that bad boy attitude Hollywood has been romanticizing since James Dean. Guy was bad news, go figure. Had parental issues, hated his father and didn't realize exactly how alike they were, all very Freudian. He didn't take it out on her physically, but he was emotionally distant, never liked her as anything more than a good lay.

He nodded along, listening rather than trying to interrupt with sympathetic words. She grinned cheekily at him and leaned across the table after her glass was empty, gave him a great view of her cleavage. She seemed to know exactly what she was doing as she asked why he was there instead of out getting humped by every woman in the city.

He threw his head back and laughed. She was as equally crude as she was sophisticated and it he thought he could get to like this woman. Maybe make a real friend out of her, he didn't have that many. Less than one hand's worth of counting outside the X-Men. She waited with a grin while he settled down, spinning his beer between slender fingers.

He was there because he needed a break. Life had gotten really hectic lately and he just needed to relax. She asked about the humping again and he shrugged. Told her he had a girlfriend, heart was spoken for, other women just didn't matter. She nodded, looking at him with a dreamy, romantic expression.

Told him it was nice of him to take her on a date when he had a girl waiting for him. He frowned and shook his head, his girl wasn't waiting for him. They were both really busy, had lives of their own. He didn't get to see her often, but when he did it was tres belle.

She liked his accent when he spoke french. Told him he had to do that when they got to the club, loud enough to make the other women jealous. He grinned at her and told her it could be arranged. She waited until he finished his beer, then grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the bar. Tucked her arm into his while they walked down the street into the more active area of the city.

They talked politics and mutant rights. She thought it was very progressive and about damn time that a city formally accepted mutants as equals. San Francisco was just the place for that kind of thing. Too bad about the Gay marriage thing. Prop 8 passing was a blow to the civil rights movement, set the whole thing back decades as far as she was concerned.

She asked why he wore sunglasses at night. He sang the song of the same name in reply, getting a laugh from her. He liked the way she laughed, so airy and free and open. Nothing seemed to cloud it, not even her breakup. It was refreshing and something he hadn't heard in a long time. Not even Rogue could laugh like that anymore. Too much drama and pain.

She seemed to pick up on his melancholy thoughts and told him to cheer up. He was on the arm of one of the best looking women in the city, he should only be upset about that if he was gay. That got him laughing and he wondered how long it had been since he met someone that could disarm and relax him so easily within only an hour of meeting.

She steered him towards an exclusive and trendy looking club. Celebrities were being photoed by paparazzi as they came and went. A line of hopeful youth waiting in vain to be noticed and thought cool enough to be allowed in extending down the street and around the corner. She was taking him to the back of the line where a spotter was starting his next round of finding the ones pretty enough to be let in. She made a comment about his scruffy clothes and dusty jacket, hoping they didn't cause the two to be overlooked.

He stopped her and smirked, draped his arm over her shoulder and sauntered to the front of the line, guiding her as surely as his hands shuffled cards. She gave him a strange look and reassessed his appearance. He no longer looked quite so scruffy. Somehow his swagger and confidence made his black shirt, torn jeans and leather duster look the height of fashion. She felt overdressed and under dressed at the same time.

He had the attention of those crowding the door. The paparazzi didn't know him, but he looked and acted like he should be someone famous. She looked like model quality eye-candy and flavor of the week, if not hour. They started taking pictures, shouting out and asking for their names for the captions. He smirked and paused, looked directly at one of the cameras. Lowered his sunglasses just long enough to give them a good view and a wink.

The name is Gambit, remember it.

Then the glasses were back up and the two were being let inside by the bouncer. The celebrities and beautiful socialites mixing in a sea of depravity. His new friend studied him, eyebrow arched. Said his name like a question and his grin split his face. He still had his arm over her shoulder and felt no desire to remove it.

Her name was Claudia, she told him. Claudia Renko. She was one quarter Japanese, she explained when he gave her a curious look. It explained the silken fall of her ebon hair. He replied that Gambit was his working name and she could call him Remy. Remy LeBeau.

She repeated his name and felt a pull in his chest. Guilt. He suddenly felt like he was cheating because he liked the way she said his name, how it poured off her tongue. Wondered if it would be a purr when he made her come, or if it she was a screamer and would yell out like an evangelist to the only God she wanted that night. He was considering sleeping with her.

He pulled his arm away and moved to a table close to the dance floor. She followed and didn't seem to have noticed his change in demeanor. He still smiled and joked as they walked, he was good at putting on the facade. She asked him to get her a glass of wine. Red, he finished for her, nodding. He remembered. She laughed and moved to the dance floor.

Her body was sex on a stick. She swayed and undulated like the tide, breaking over the beach and making every near her wet. She had many admirers, men and women alike. He licked his lips and looked away, shifting in his seat and trying very hard to think about a naked Blob. Kill the heat building between his legs.

He glanced back at the floor. She was sandwiched between two women, one of them a B-list starlet with red hair and the kind of body that belonged on the pages of Playboy. Blob couldn't help him as he licked his lips again, blood pounding and flowing to the worst place it could. He was grateful when the drinks arrived. Ordered two more beers immediately and downed the first.

She came back to the table, left her dance partners and took a drink of the wine. She laughed at him and thanked him. He asked why and she waved her hand. This, all of it, apparently. Being a gentleman and not hitting on her, letting her drag him to this place and most of all for listening to her, really listening.

The guilt cut into him again, fueled by the erection pushing tightly against his abdomen. He pulled off his sunglasses and let her have a good long look at his eyes. She leaned in, that cleavage view making it hard for him to think, said his eyes were beautiful. So exotic. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders.

He helped remove it and then let her pull him onto the dance floor. Shut his eyes as she turned around and pushed her ass against his hips, grinding to the music, acting like she couldn't feel the obvious. The guilt sat heavily over his heart as he moved with her, wrapped his hands over her hips and kept her against him, moving in time with the electronica beat.

A man pulled up behind him and ground his ass. He leaned back into it, not caring about how it looked. He wasn't attracted to men, but the distraction of the situation was needed. Something to take his mind – the smaller, lower one – off the body in front of him. The other man pulled away, dance partners shifting on the small, crowded patch of light and sound. He was back to hugging her body against his in silent desperation.

He hadn't been with a woman in so long. His heart screamed for Rogue, but his body just wanted release. Wanted to do what came so naturally between a man and a woman. She turned around in his arms and wrapped her own around his neck. Pressed her hips into his.

His eyes widened as the pulsing light played over her face. A blood red diamond flickering in the center of her forehead. It had to be a trick. His sensitive eyes seeing things from the flashing colors. She smiled up at him and licked her lips. Inviting him, dark eyes glazed with the abandon of liquor and an atmosphere of debauchery.

He felt like his body was no longer his own. His head lowered and their lips touched, nuzzled, pressed firmly against the other. One of his hands laced through her hair, pushed her against him, forced her to let his tongue inside just to make more space. He no longer thought about Rogue.

He pulled away and he was sure he wasn't seeing things. The diamond pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. Sinister's face drifted past his eyes: the elegantly arched eyebrows, the finely sculpted lips, the curve of his eyes. They were all there in her, in those dark eyes that flickered with red light. Smile knowing.

He wanted to let go of her, his body held tighter. Her hips were grinding into his again and lips crashing against each other. He groaned into her, hands squeezing tight enough to bruise. No one seemed to notice or care that they were practically fucking each other in the middle of the dance floor.

She broke the contact as the song shifted to something slower. Her hand wrapped tightly around his wrist and she dragged him willingly to the back hall. The restrooms and broom closet. She pushed open the men's room, ignoring the cry of outrage from the two men taking a piss. Her grin widened as she pressed herself to him and guided him backwards into a stall. The men stopped complaining.

It was his hand that locked the stall door. His hand that pushed her to sit on the stool and his hands that opened his jeans. His hands that wrapped themselves in the familiar hair. His hands that pulled her face forward and held her to him as her mouth took him without a fight.

It was his voice that groaned and hissed and told her yes, right there, just like that. Mon dieu it felt so good. He stared at that diamond, smirked at her face flushed with desire, mouth sucking and licking and hands pulling at him. Bent to his will.

He pulled her off him and had the satisfaction of seeing her pout, lips swollen from the effort of trying to get him off. His hands still tangled in her hair lifted her and pushed her back against the wall. Forced her legs to straddle the toilet, forced her legs open. His hips pressed into hers as he crushed his lips against her again.

He came up for air and asked her why. She chuckled, that familiar chuckle, and called him LeBeau, wrapped her arms around his neck. Told him she was a fail safe. Her master, her creator, needed a new body. She was to provide it, the old fashioned way.

He growled and went to pull away. He hated being used. She pouted and told him not to be like that. She hadn't intended for him to be the father. The Asian-American she told him out before was the one she had selected. Excellent genes in him, so much like his father. If only he had been able to get her pregnant before trying to kill her.

His hands were still tangled in her hair and he looked at her. He told her his debt was paid in full if did this. She said she'd make sure to relay that to the King of Diamonds when he was returned properly.

He pushed her against the wall, hands lowering to her skirt, pushing it up and pulling down the lacy black thong that passed for underwear. His fingers were against her, rubbing and pinching, getting her more wet, making her moan. He should have just pushed himself inside her and be done with it.

He wanted her to scream for him. His mouth lowered to her chest, sucked hard on one perky nipple through the think cloth of her shirt. She gasped and begged him for more, hands gripping his shoulders and holding on for dear life.

His fingers dipped inside her and her hips lifted in response. She purred his name, eyes shutting as she threw her head back, tried to close the space between them. He lifted one of her legs, wrapped it around her waist and pressed himself against her without entering. Teased himself as much as he did her.

His hands were on her ass, squeezing and kneading as his kissed a trail of fire over he neck, her collarbone. She begged him to enter her, prayed to him in a fevered whisper, declared him the only god she believed in if only he would get on with it and fuck her.

He chuckled into her ear and shifted his body, plunged inside her and she howled in pleasure, screamed his name. Screamed dear god thank you. He said she was welcome and thrusted again, slowly, agony as the pleasure was stretched out. She came over him, tightening around him in orgasm. He kept moving at his own pace, pushing in and out of the slick heat his body needed so badly. It had been far too long since he felt this and he was going to enjoy it.

She came three more times before he could stop holding back. Bruising her hips as he pounded into her, no longer coherent, legs week from standing so long. He came hard, shivering as he spilled into her, biting the soft juncture where her neck met her shoulders. Her voice harsh from all the screaming repeating his name like a mantra.

He left himself inside her for a long time. Had to get the feeling back in his legs before he could pull out, take some toilet paper and clean himself off. She slid down to sit on the top of the bowl, legs spread wide and fluid leaking out from her abused entrance. A smile of utter satisfaction on her lips, dark eyes clouded with lust.

He zipped his pants up and unlocked the door, pulling it shut behind him when he noticed the small audience trying very hard to make it look like they were only using the urinals. About ten men jerking off and not looking at each other as they did so. Glancing at him to see who the lucky bastard was. He smirked and sauntered out. He heard the stall door open as the bathroom door swung shut.

He didn't wait for her, went to their table and grabbed his coat. Put on his glasses and left the club. He didn't feel guilty anymore.

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End