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Part Three in the Warren/Jean-Paul ‘Toronto'
arc. Of course, they're nowhere near Toronto, but the series needed
a name, and that's what I call the stories before I find real titles.
And hey, maybe they'll find their way back someday ...
Anyway. Rated NC-17 for m/m sex and language. I dig feedback ([email protected]), and I dig archive requests (Devo, as always, this is already yours:). I dig art based on these guys, too. And yes, that's a hint. Blatant. You might even say I'm begging. ::smiles::
So without further ado, here's the story ...
There was something surreal about ringing the bell to the X-Mansion. I had never been to Westchester before, never been invited and hadn't cared to see it. It had not been hard to find, and it hadn't taken me more than ten minutes to put aside my irrational nervousness and walk to the door, prepared to court my woe-begotten almost-boyfriend.
Our new and budding relationship was about to prove whether or not three months apart, kept separated by hectic and conspiring schedules but glued together by phone and email, had destroyed what fragile framework we had built together or if our hours of long distance discussion had cemented our feelings. It was no wonder I was somewhat anxious.
Holding my breath, I pressed the doorbell and waited impatiently, shifting my bag higher onto my shoulder and fussing with my hair in the glass window, a second bag sitting by my feet. In my left hand, I clutched a bouquet of specially-ordered blue roses. I was feeling publically romantic. It was a rare thing.
I looked up and smiled crookedly out of reflex. It was just my luck to have the door answered by Cyclops, the straightest mutant in existence, the only one who could possibly cancel me completely out of existence and still have plenty of himself left to go on. "Bonjour."
The extended moment of ultimate awkwardness was cut short by Phoenix, shoving her wayward husband aside and smiling warmly. "Ignore him, Northstar. Come on in. Warren wasn't expecting you for another week. Flowers? How lovely! Scott, get out of the way."
I stepped into the lavish hallway, looking around with something another person would call awe. Being who I was, I could only afford to call it mildly impressed. It was a rather large house. "Please, call me Jean-Paul. Is Warren home?"
"Brooding somewhere, I think, and call me Jean. I'll get him for you." Jean closed her eyes for a moment then opened them again, smiling broadly. "I told him a handful of bills arrived for him. He'll come down in a foul temper."
I smiled and waited as patiently as I could, standing tall and proud despite the obvious discomfort from Cyclops. Though I could not see his eyes beneath the ruby glasses, I was convinced he was staring at me, wondering how I had managed to magically transform Warren into a raging homosexual.
I could feel him before I actually saw him, seemed to feel the wind caress my cheek and turned my face upward to meet it, and I looked just in time to see him pause at the top of the stairs, the baby blue eyes widening in shock.
"Surprise?" I asked, grinning widely, and he flew down to me. I had feared there would be a moment between us where neither he nor I would know what to do, but just seeing him and knowing he thought the same thing, we came into each other's arms, hugging tightly before falling into an easy kiss which lasted for a mere five sweet seconds. "I've missed you."
"You said you weren't coming until next week," Warren said with an immensely happy smile, pulling back slightly then resting his glance on the flowers. He seemed both shocked and flattered at my gift. "See? I never get flowers. He gave me flowers, Jean."
"I noticed," Jean said, unconsciously wrapping her arms around Cyclops's waist. "God, Warren, the rest of them are going to have a communal heart attack when they realise you *weren't* lying." Jean paused and hummed to herself, the sort of noise someone makes when they *really* like something. "You two are gorgeous together."
"And apart," I added with a cocky grin, wrapping my own arms around Warren's waist and pulling him deliciously close. The light I had left him with at the airport, after a very lengthy and quiet goodbye, seemed to have faded somewhat. Very well. I had various ways of bringing his happiness back. "Show me to our room?"
"Of course," Warren replied. "Jean, I will talk to you later."
Phoenix grinned knowingly at me, evidently expecting the same thing I was. "Dinner?"
"If time permits," Warren answered, already taking one of my bags and going for the stairs, oddly shy when I hadn't thought it was possible for him to be bashful. It was charming. I could only hope he hadn't reevaluated his sexuality in our many weeks apart and come to the conclusion that he wasn't queer.
But one step in his room and one slam of the door later, I had nothing to fear. We were clawing at each other's clothing, and I cursed his shirt when it refused to come off cleanly, tangling in those glorious wings. It didn't matter, because my shoes had stopped my pants from being removed and that fact didn't seem to bother us either. We merely fell on the bed, kissing and licking every inch of skin offered. Desperate to feel someone other than myself between my fingers, I grabbed his erection and stroked firmly, taking complete joy in the solid heat of him in my palm.
"Holy *fuck*," he muttered into my shoulder, completely dishevelled, completely beautiful. His legs settled over my hips, the vee of his pelvis grinding against my own white-hot need. That was it. From there on in, we gave up on tenderness and went for animalistic passion instead, pumping our groins together, using our bellies as a slicked and slippery surface before, with mutual groans, we anointed each other with our seed. "So much better than the phone."
"Oui," I panted, lying there limply, my jeans around my ankles, the torn remnants of his shirt tickling my neck. His weight was light, I remembered with fondness, and I took it on my body and just *lay* there, grateful I could feel him so fully. "Though last night, mon dieu, Warren, I think I christened my ceiling."
"That's a sexy image," Warren mumbled, settling more firmly onto my body and tucking a protective arm over my belly.
"You are sexier," I replied with a grin, trying valiantly to ignore the rapidly cooling blessing of our union on my skin. "We are a mess. I had this lovely seduction scene planned out within my mind where I ravished you with grace."
I laughed, feeling his hot breath hit my chest in return. "Funny man."
"Aren't I, though?" Warren replied quietly, kissing the nub of my breast tenderly before moving his fingers over the same area, touching with extreme gentleness. "Thank you, Jean-Paul, for showing up like this. I've been miserable without you."
"The trusty old fist does become a bit tiresome, doesn't it?" I sighed as he smiled against my flesh, such a beautiful creature. When we weren't wasting hours on the phone, I spent half my time replaying our short, few days in Toronto in my mind. Needless to say, the rest of Alpha Flight had not been all that thrilled with my sudden trip into monogamy. "Mon dieu, I feel as though I am thirteen again. Constantly hard."
"Old man," Warren replied with a smirk, and it *was* a smirk. When we were able to steal our respective team Comm-rooms and talk for hours in the visual as well as oral, I had spent enough time watching his face that I was able to recognise the curve of lips against my body. The little things, I suppose, they made all the difference.
"You are older."
"I am not," Warren replied lazily. "Care to share the elusive number we both refer to constantly yet never actually state?"
"And let you realise you are robbing the cradle? Never," I vowed with a laugh, a hiss of breath between stretched lips. I suppose part of me was afraid that he would turn out to be significantly younger than I was, though his tenure with the X-Men made me think we were close in age. "I turned thirty a couple months ago. You must be around that, Warren."
"Closer to thirty-one, actually. Next month," Warren confessed with mock-drama, looking mortified though his eyes were laughing at the joke. "We're ancient."
"Yet still as good looking as ever."
"If not more so. It is almost painful to look at us."
And so it continued until we both received the mental yell announcing dinner, and we dressed in the height of fashion and washed using a discarded bottle of spring water before walking straight into the lion's den
No pun intended.
Needless to say, our entrance into the dinning room silenced everyone. Immediately. I would not admit this to anyone, perhaps Warren if he got me drunk, but sudden silences, especially ones made because I am *gay* and have a tendency to try a little out-of-the-closet activities from time to time, made me want to vomit. I hated them. I would rather be called a thousand hateful names to my face than be scrutinised wordlessly behind my back.
"Jean-Paul," Wolverine said gruffly from the end of the table, nodding his head in my general direction. He had probably smelled my instant reaction of fear. We had a long history, him and I, and I nodded my thanks to him. "If Wings starts annoying the shit out of you, give me a call and I'll knock him around a bit."
Warren tensed behind me, and I knew then that he didn't like the only friend I had on this side of the border. Mon Dieu. Knowing them, however, I quickly wrote it off to inherent stubbornness and unresolved sexual tension. One night in bed together and they'd be the best of friends in no time – if I ever was removed from the picture, and I was beginning to hope I would not be for a very long time.
Warren sat down, and I followed mechanically, immediately taking hold of his thigh under the table. This was not me. This suddenly meek and worrisome fellow could not be me. But compared to the X-Men, I was nothing.
And then there was the man across the table from me.
Damn Remy for deciding life as a superhero would be a good idea, and now, sitting here and seeing the knowing grin on his lips, I was half-tempted to deny ever having slept with him years ago at Mardi Gras. I was drunk, he was high, and we were both horny as sin. Kids, yeah, but we fucked for days in New Orleans.
To make matters worse, Remy was my first and he knew it. Fate and I were on cruel terms.
It dawned on me then that maybe I should tell Warren about my nights of pleasure with Gambit. Perhaps. Because the way there were exchanging *looks*, I got the feeling neither of them liked the other very much. I bit back the smirk. Mon Dieu. Warren was the epitome of repressed sexual frustration.
So long as I could cling to that misguided thought, I could take solace in it. Even though I was sure I was wrong, at least with Logan for Warren had proclaimed a vile hatred for body hair on more than one occasion, I needed to find humour here to ease the discomfort.
I put my hand to my head. Headache.
"Are you all right?" Warren whispered as the conversations started again, leaning close to me, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath. "They really are harmless. Just very cliquish, I guess. And they didn't believe me. About you. Not one word of it."
Warren shook his head. "No. In fact, they teased me ruthlessly for inventing a relationship with you. You, they felt, were out of my league. I, they came to conclude, was just another repressed gay man finally admitting his long-hidden secret."
I blinked. Suddenly, everything I had ever heard about the X-men, even the most asinine and improbable things, suddenly started seeming a lot more likely. "You are all inbred. I must escape before you demand babies."
"I'm not having your children," Warren replied with a sly grin. "I've heard it's painful."
"But you'd look so lovely with child," I replied, leaning against him as I laughed, patting his flat belly lovingly. To further my point, he pushed out his muscles until he was left with a very pathetic attempt at weight gain. "I am in no mood to eat anything but you."
Beside me, Scott Summers choked loudly. Viciously. To the point he was spitting out half his dinner in an attempt to save his life, hands sprawled on the table while Jean pounded his back. I suppose I *could* have said that a little less loudly.
To pretend we were the little het boys everyone wanted us to be, Warren and I separated immediately and ate the food. He would have tasted better, I thought as I chewed the salad slowly, finding that this time apart was too much. To bring Warren back to me, I put my hand back on his leg and kept it there.
In the afterglow if love-making, we simply lay in the moment. Me on my belly, Warren draped over my back, our legs tangled so tightly together I wasn't sure what belonged to whom. I could have fallen asleep right there if not for the fact he suddenly spoke.
"Does it hurt?"
I looked back at him, arching a dark eyebrow in response to his question. "Not with you. It has with others. But not with you." I paused, frowning only to myself and the blankets, knowing he could not see my face. "You have never, not even with Cameron?"
"No," Warren replied quietly, "I didn't want to and he seemed just as happy letting me do all the work. It's funny, I guess, I thought that if I let it go that far, it meant I was *really* gay. I was an idiot in my youth. Only slightly less idiotic now, I fear."
"Do not feel pressured into doing something you do not want to do."
"No," he said quickly, quietly, brushing his fingers along my rib cage, such a gentle creature. "No, I will admit to being curious. And you seem to like it. And well, maybe, soon, I'll really want to try it. And stuff. I guess."
"You are absolutely adorable when you are flustered, I hope you realise that."
"But am I not adorable all the time?"
"Good point. My adorable, little finch."
"Watch who you're calling little." Warren smiled as we settled back into comfort, abandoning the banter which we amused ourselves with endlessly. The point was not whether or not anyone else found us funny, it was that we thought ourselves to be hilarious. "I'm tired, Jean-Paul. I'm old. I need sleep."
And as he said that, I was already drifting off, happy to have him so close and trusting he would realise I had no problem with him sleeping so snug against my back, that his weight didn't bother me, that I *loved* having him so near to me.
And I think I loved him.
The next day, I sat on the grass of the mansion's grounds, just watching Warren speak. After a particularly filling lunch, we had abandoned the house for a more open area, sitting down and speaking. About ourselves. About life in general. I learned he was afraid of spiders, to the point he had been known to shriek like a girl whenever he saw one. In turn, I offered a dreadful story about me as a child, when I ran into a glass door and knocked myself unconscious.
"I do that too. Still. I'll think a window is open and," Warren made a dreadful face, "splat. I'm a total bird in that regard. But if I leave a window open, I expect it to be open when I return. Jean and I seem to have varying opinions on this."
"You poor thing."
"I know," Warren replied, smiling as he played with the grass. His feet were bare and every few minutes he would bend his toes into the earth, trying to ground himself. His feet, like every part of him, were perfect. "Bobby's been avoiding you."
"I've noticed," I replied, leaning back to rest on my elbows as I stretched out my legs, letting them bathe in the sun. I could feel the heat radiate to my skin even through the material of my jeans. "I suppose I should just let him wallow away in repression if that is what he wants. It just seems sad to me."
"It is sad," Warren agreed quietly. "I mean, when we first met, I thought there was something different about him. And I watched him, you know, all the time just to find out what it was. I don't know why nobody noticed his eyes, but they had this way of straying, of looking beyond a beautiful woman to a man in the distance, looking through her almost. Who am I to speak, you know? I had one relationship with a man, one that lasted a year, but he was out of his mind. I broke up with him, couldn't do it anymore, couldn't risk people realising I wasn't straight. I think, sometimes, that's what pushed him over the edge."
"Do not blame yourself because he was a psychopath. Cameron Hodge killed hundreds of innocent people but of his own accord, Warren." I lay my hand on his knee, tucking my legs under my body as I sat up. "It is not your fault."
"Things got so fucked up, so quickly. I'm still fucked up in the head. Part of me thinks you should just leave now, avoid the inevitable break I'm going to have." Warren took my hand and turned it over, tracing idle patterns into my palm. "And part of me wants you there, for strength or something. I don't know."
"I am a very weak person. You will come to know that in time," I said quietly, twining my fingers with his, stealing his heat. "Warren, if I have not made this clear already, I do consider you my boyfriend. In fact, most of Alpha Flight knows about you."
Warren looked very young when he smiled at me, and I couldn't help but think this is what he must have been like at sixteen with Hodge, the almost-heterosexual, stuck between one extreme and the other. Until that moment, I hadn't understood what it must be like to suffer loving both genders.
"Did they believe you?"
"Certainly not. They believe I am sunning in Hawaii as we speak, seducing some young fellow who will help me realise I am not an old man, just slightly aged." I leaned into Warren, grinning marvellously in the midday sun. "Like a good wine."
"I like that," Warren decided, leaning forward to meet my smile, so dangerously close before he brushed his lips against mine and breathed his words into my mouth. "Lean back."
Without word, I complied, smirking at him while I tried to guess his intentions. It turned out I didn't have to guess because he wasted no time, as business men are often trained, and lifted my shirt, pressing his mouth to my belly. I began to mutter something about being in the open, but the magnificent white wings lifted and covered us completely, a ready-made wall that no eyes could penetrate.
Warren, safe within his wings, inched down my zipper until he could cradle my penis in his hand, his tongue following the path his fingers took. Remembering myself, I pressed my hand to my mouth as he swallowed me whole, just like that, bringing me into the incredible heat of his mouth. Without my permission, my hips rolled toward him greedily, stopped by strong fingers on one hips as he continued his oral ministrations. My legs, having no other route, spread as far as they could, equally pleased toes digging into the same grass Warren had touched only minutes before. He moved with such dedication, such love, than I had to swallowed the scream that erupted from my lips when I exploded into blinding orgasm.
The veil of feathers lifted and I blinked at the harsh sun, sitting up and running my hands through my dark hair. Warren smiled sheepishly and wiped his hand on the grass before tucking himself back into his pants. "Gotta love the wings."
"I do," I replied with a smile, and we sat back together to watch the world pass us by, clouds racing across the blue of the atmosphere, and I settled on him with a smile, content just to lie there and forget the ugliness.
Iceman turned around to look at me as though I was Death and had come for him. I knew he was thinking about running but some sensible part of him seemed to sense I wasn't out for blood. Instead, he offered a crooked smile and messed up his hair.
"Listen, I'm sorry, about Toronto. I, perhaps, came after you a bit strong. I meant no harm, and I certainly did not intend to force you to admit something that might not be true." I paused and thought about my words, thinking I sounded doubtful enough to convince him I was still sure he was gay. "Needless to say, your orientation is none of my business."
"Well, thanks, I guess." Bobby looked mortified, and I felt immense pity for him, wondering what had wounded him so terribly that he couldn't even think about the possibility without horror. "Um, I'll see you around. Yeah. Um. Bye."
"Bobby, wait!" I grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back. "I lied. I'm *not* sorry. I *think* you are gay. Just know, even if you go your entire life as this man you are now, that there is nothing wrong with being like I am."
"I don't think ... I'm ... not ... just ..."
"There is nothing wrong with it," I repeated and left him there, eyes wide with fear, breath caught in his chest. And I found that I couldn't look at him any longer because there was something about him that made me feel ashamed, and I came to terms with myself too long ago to let myself doubt now.
If only he could understand that.
I woke up to Warren screaming. It was not something I would ever chose to do again, and I will say that my first reaction was to hit him. In all honesty, I thought he was attacking me, but as I watched him, I realised he wasn't even awake as he writhed. Those cries came from some deep sleep that tormented him.
"Warren!" I hissed, moving fast as I dodged the angry wings, ducking under the feathers as they brushed my hair. When I saw an opening, I went for it and wrapped my arms around him, holding his hands to his body. "Warren! Wake up!"
"Oh, God!" He said suddenly, going limp in my grip, and I dropped to my knees, taking him with me. I could tell by the ways his eyes looked at the wall that he was awake now, knew what had happened and was none too happy with it. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you."
"About what, baby?"
He smiled slightly at the name, leaning back against me as the wings brushed my knees. "My dreaming. My nightmares. I mean, sometimes I'm *fine*. Then other times, I'm exhausted because I can't sleep through the night. I just keep thinking about things."
"Apocalypse, mostly. It was years ago now, when he took me and made me into this blue-skinned joke, but it haunts me still." Warren laughed weakly, and I knew he expected me to laugh right along with him, but instead I brushed the sweat-soaked hair from his face, kissing his cheek lovingly as I tried to soothe his soul. "Why do you stay with me?"
"Because you make me laugh. Because you make me happy." Because I love you. And I need you to know that even I cannot say it. "Warren, when I first saw you, it was years ago, when we were both still children. I thought you were beautiful. It took a chance encounter to realise that your beauty applied to both the inside and the out. Call me a romantic, call me a coward, but you bring a little beauty to my life, and I need that."
"But I am such a broken man," Warren whispered.
"We both are, Warren. I have lived a life of disappointment." In that second, I chose to tell him my past and the horrors found within it. It was a statement of utter trust and I could only hope he would see it as that. "I used to be champion skier, of my own skill, but they stripped me of my medals when they found out I was a mutant. The true passion of my life, that *one* thing I enjoyed and was good at, they tarnished with fear and hate. It is silly, but I look at a pair of skies and feel sick when I realise what something so paltry did to my life."
Warren nodded but said nothing, his hands on my thighs as I spoke, trusting him to listen to the stories I told so few people. I did not want pity, but I trusted Warren enough to realise pity would be the last thing he offered. "I found a baby. Once. In a dumpster. She had AIDS. I have seen so many friends die from that horrid disease, and it terrifies me to think it exists. I adopted her, Warren, and named her Joanne. She was so beautiful, Warren." I closed my eyes, aware of the scalding tears and how much it hurt to still be crying over her death. "She was mine for such a short period of time."
Warren turned and took me into a hug, rubbing my back gently as he cradled my body. Anyone else and I would have hit him away, but it comforted me to have Warren here, crying with me simply because he didn't know what else to do.
"I'm sorry," Warren offered quietly, "that life has not been nicer to you."
"Don't be, for the very thing that drove me to Toronto and on a quest for peace, led me to you and into your arms." I turned in his arms, clasping his head in my hands as I met his sorrowful eyes. "I do not care if the entire world laughs at us, Warren, I don't care if not a soul believes in our relationship. It does not matter because I know this is something real."
Warren blinked slowly, tilting his head in this unbearably cute way. I gave him something he didn't quite understand, and I sat there on the floor, aware of his arms and the heat of his body, waiting for him to say something.
I think I was waiting for him to say ‘I love you.'
"Jean-Paul, mon ami," Remy said when I emerged outside the next morning, knowing Warren still had a good hour or two before he could convince his body to follow suit. I smiled and declined the cigarette offered to me. He knew I didn't smoke. "Left the oiseau in bed?"
"Oui," I replied and sat down at the table, looking across the sprawling grounds. "Does it surprise you to know I am with him?"
"Thought you had better taste," Remy said with a shrug, puffing on his cigarette, just giving himself cancer. Back in New Orleans, when he was so high he thought he was floating, and I was so drunk I thought he actually could fly, I knew he was too free with his life, too convinced he was immortal. It was the part about him that had impressed me the least. "Ever think about then?"
"I have, from time to time. We were children; you were sex on legs. I got what I needed from you."
"And I from you, mon ami." Remy laughed and blew smoke into the wind, sitting back and crossing his leg over his knee. "Tell me, you told the oiseau about us? Because Warren hates me, homme, more than you even know. He's not going to like it."
"The is not much he can do to change the past, and he knows this. You underestimate him, Remy, but then, they all take him for face value." I shook my hand through my hair, elegant hands, elegant man. Remy, in his drug-induced stupour, had worshipped me for that. "But tell me something, Remy, how well do you know Iceman?"
Remy shrugged. "Well as I know anybody on this team, I suppose, maybe a bit better than some of the others. He and I, we've always gotten along just fine. There's no bad blood between us, homme, and I'd like to keep it that way."
"Why, Remy, do you, the man who swore he'd never settle down, have a soft spot for our confused Iceman?" I asked with a teasing tone, receiving the one-fingered salute from Remy.
"Fuck off, Jean-Paul, don't go seeing things where there's nothing," Remy muttered, scratching his stubbled chin. "But what were you going to ask?"
"Is he more like you or like me?"
Remy grinned, trapping the cigarette stub between his teeth. "Mr. Beaubier, are you implying something about the homme?"
"Remy, be serious. This concerns me."
Remy crooked a dark eyebrow, his devilish eyes smiling beneath the look of surprise. "That the homme is a serious closet case? Didn't take you to be a saviour in that court, mon ami. Let him be. He'll figure it out eventually, probably when he's forty-five, balding and with two kids. It's not your place, Jean-Paul, to try and make him see otherwise."
"I have this idea," I said, leaning forward, "I need your help."
Remy smirked, bringing the cigarette from his lips and holding it between his fingers, leaning back in the chair as he crossed his leg over his knee. "Oui? And what would I have to do, Jean-Paul?"
"Remy, I need you to be honest with him."
Warren looked at me as if I were mad, opening his mouth to say something, closing his mouth when he decided against it. Open and closed, over and over again, as I sat on the bed, waiting for him to make up his mind. "I don't think he'll agree to it."
"Or is it that you are uncomfortable with the club scene?"
Warren shook his head, decisively sure that wasn't it. "No, I just don't think Bobby is going to go for an outing to the gay club circuit. This is the kid I could barely convince to come out to Harry's Hideaway with me to scope out chicks."
"There is a very good reason for that," I replied, pulling on my socks. "He is *gay,* Warren."
"I know that," Warren replied sharply. "But he is not as social as you seem to think he is. He doesn't dance, he barely drinks, and he sure as hell won't willingly accompany Canada's leading gay mutant and his confused bisexual of a boyfriend into a nightclub."
"Which is why I invited someone else to come with us, a *single* bisexual man who owes me a favour, a *single* man who might help defrost Iceman, show him how to have fun, to relax and accept that some things cannot be changed." I stood up and zipped up my pants, looking back to admire my rear. Perfect. The chinos clung nicely to my ass, making it clear I was bare underneath, and I pulled on a thin grey sweater that outlined my abs. Gorgeous. "Warren, are you coming with me or not? Because I am going to need help getting him into the car."
Warren sighed deeply, dejectedly strapping his wings tightly against his back, grunting and cursing the need for it, working out his foul temper so he would not appear miserable in public. He did that often. "You have no idea how much I *sweat* in clubs with this harness on."
"Good boy," I said with a grin, squeezing his ass with my free hand as the other brushed my black hair, pulling it away from my face. Warren stomped to the closet and yanked out a pair of khaki pants and a navy blue shirt, jumping into the pants before buttoning the shirt, a nice silk blend that clung beautifully to his impressive chest. "So who's this other man?"
Warren choked and gave me a look of sheer disbelief.
"You didn't know?"
"I didn't know," Warren muttered. "And you know I don't like him. Couldn't you have found someone else? Like ... like ... like, damn, I've run out of people, save for those two boys in X-Force, but they're practically conjoined. Oh, wait, Sam! There is no way he's entirely straight, you know, I always got this sense ..."
"I slept with Remy years ago, had a fling that lasted close to a week," I blurted out in the middle of Warren's rant, stopping him dead in his tracks. Warren bit his lip and crossed his arms over his chest. "It was only a fling. To be honest, I found him to be arrogant and careless."
"It's generally agreed I'm arrogant, too," Warren muttered, taking this far more personally than I intended him to take it, "and careless. You *know* why I was in Toronto, I told you what I planned to do. Is that not careless?"
"You did not do what you planned to do, did you? You did not blow your head off in some anonymous pocket of space, and that speaks a lot of your character, whether you like it or not. Nor are you as arrogant as you would like to think, pompous and snobby, perhaps, simply because you were bred that way, but you are far too self-conscious to ever be entirely arrogant. Besides, I stayed with you. I threw him to the street once he started to smell."
Warren smiled ruefully, though every muscle in his jaw fought against it. "I guess you have a point, but honestly, Jean-Paul, Remy? I thought you had better taste than that."
I shrugged, deciding once and for all that Remy and Warren were hot for each other and were never, *ever* going to admit it, which was good for me because I *wanted* Warren for more than his body, though it certainly helped to have him be so lovely. "I like sex."
"Fair enough," Warren said and finished dressing, eyeing himself in the mirror. I stepped up beside him and put my head on his shoulder, looking at us when all logic dictated there never should have been an us. "You are very beautiful, Jean-Paul."
"So are you, Warren," I replied and kissed him, in front of that mirror so I could see us be beautiful together, and mon dieu, we were, we were.
You are not supposed to laugh at something this beautiful ...
"Hey, Bobby, I'm going out to rent a couple videos. Want to come? We get to ride in my horribly expensive car, and I might even let you touch the chrome," Warren said in the living room as I headed down to the garage to meet Remy, and I couldn't help but smile. Without Warren, my job would have been that much harder.
Remy was already in the car, just sitting there and dressed impeccably. He had a shirt in his lap for Bobby, and his expression was something short of amused. Remy had tried to talk himself out of his debt earlier, but I was far too stubborn to allow him more than a few words. I explained to him that I didn't intend for him to sleep with Bobby; I only needed another queer mutant there to cancel out the fact that I wanted to maul and grope Warren in public. I was nothing if not intrinsically selfish.
"Get down, they will be here shortly," I hissed, climbing into the back of Warren's Mercedes and crouching behind the seat. Remy gave me the finger but slipped between the seats, disappearing into the darkness. "Am I not brilliant?"
"I would answer you honestly, but I don't want to be shattering your fucking ego," Remy growled, kicking me in the leg, as petty and childish as he had been over ten years ago. It was my turn to give him the finger, but we both hushed when we heard Bobby and Warren arguing over whether or not Sylvester Stallone could even be called an actor.
"Get in the car, Bobby," Warren finally said, giving up. Warren adjusted the mirror once he was seated, snarling at Bobby when he caught sight of something he didn't like. I hated not being able to see the action firsthand. "I said you could touch it; I didn't say mate with it!"
"Yeah?" Bobby replied, still outside. "Watch me."
Warren was having a conniption in the front seat as I bit my fist not to laugh when the car started shaking, and it became obvious that Bobby was humping the Mercedes. Remy was avoiding my eyes, trying to stay calm, trying so hard not to laugh, and finally using my method, pressing his hands over his mouth.
"Do not suggest things around me, Warren, you know I'm spiteful enough to do it," Bobby said, narrowly missing gouging out Remy's eyes as he reached for the belt. "And wow, Warren, do you always get this dressed up to go rent movies?"
"You know me," Warren quipped, his left hand smacking away the fingers I had slipped through the seat, poking him in that beautifully rounded ass of his, unable to help myself knowing it was so close to my head. "I can't do anything without looking good."
Bobby groaned. "Good God, Warren, you'd think you'd be humbled somewhat by Mr. Canadian Egoist himself. Hank and I were talking about this, how we're not quite sure how the two of you can exist in one room, let alone enjoy each other's company so much."
"God, you don't honestly think I'm sleeping with him for his personality, do you?" Warren cut in, ignoring the sudden jab I gave to his hip. "But honestly, Bob, don't think about it, just accept it. I can't begin to explain how this all happened, just that it did and I'm glad."
"You really like him?" Bobby asked quietly.
"I really do, and he really likes me." The car turned out onto the main road as the automatic locks snapped down. "Don't you, Jean-Paul?"
"You bet, mon amour," I said, sitting up and leaning over the front seating to messily kiss Warren's smooth cheek, leering at Bobby who looked at me with horror clearly painted over his face. "You'll forgive us for being so deceitful, but it was really the only way."
"Or so he says," Remy added, sitting up and dropping the shirt in Bobby's lap. Bobby gave Remy as similar look to the one bestowed upon me. "Put it on, Bobby, there is no use in fighting him. The homme is impossible when he wants something."
"I'm going to fucking kill you all."
No, I thought, you are going to thank me.
"I'm not going in," Bobby muttered, shaking his head stubbornly. "No *way* am I going in there, not now, not ever, so just forget it. I really ... I'm ... this isn't ... and you, Remy, how the hell did you get involved in ...?"
"My name is Jean-Paul, and I am gay," I said suddenly, elbowing Warren in the ribs.
"My name is Warren, and I'm bisexual," Warren said with a sigh, probably as confused as the rest of us as to why my plan hadn't worked out as perfectly as hoped. We both looked at Remy, who looked like he couldn't decide who to maim first.
"What the oiseau said, save for my name is Remy and I got about ten time the personality." It was amazing that he managed to say it through a tightly clenched jaw that didn't move, and it was even more amazing that Warren didn't try to knock Remy senseless for the unnecessary jibe. "Robert?"
Bobby crossed his arms over his chest, chewing viciously on his lower lip. "Is this *really* the best way to be doing this? I don't even like one of you, and I'm not too keen on the other two right now either. You're all incredible mean people."
"Not mean, just aged enough to realise that not lying to yourself every day of your life is a better way to live," I replied testily, two steps from beating an admission out of him, but I backed down when Warren's hand settled on my shoulder, grounding me. "Iceman, Bobby, I will admit this is *not* the greatest way, but it is all I could manage. You are throwing the best years of your life away and for what?"
Bobby looked liked he was about to cry, which was not what I wanted. I looked to Warren, begging him to step in. He did, begrudgingly taking Bobby by the shoulders and stepping away from Remy and I but still within earshot to allow for eavesdropping.
"Bobby, you know he is trying to help you, and I'm sorry to tell you this, but I am not the idiot people think I am. You remember Cameron?" Warren laughed to himself, slapping his head. "Of course you remember Cameron. Well, he and I ... were together, for some time."
Bobby looked at Warren as if he was mad, a common reaction I was beginning to notice, and I kicked Remy in the shin before the Cajun could comment, though it was obvious the idiot felt a strong need to have some words.
"But I got scared, and I ran away, and he, well, he might have been crazy before then, but I am completely sure I didn't help in keeping him away from the edge." Warren titled his head, thoughtful. "So I'm not sure what I'm saying, just that don't be afraid of who you are. I was, and I *really* got shit on for it."
"Warren, in all honesty," Bobby said quietly, "your anecdotes blow."
Warren laughed sheepishly, ruffling him own hair after just fussing with it in the car for *ten minutes* trying to achieve perfection. I sighed. "I know that, but you get what I'm saying without really saying it, right? And if you are, on some off chance, straight, well, I apologise for the whole group ..."
"Q-Men," I shouted suddenly, "just call us the Q-Men!"
"I am not calling us the Q-Men," Warren replied, waving away my sudden burst of inspiration. Remy shrugged, looking like he kind of liked the title. I was beginning to remember why I slept with him in the first place. He could be so agreeable. "But Bobby ..."
Bobby shook his head abruptly, and I was already moving toward them, unable to guess at his emotions from looking at him. If he was to get violent, I *would* defend my little finch of a boyfriend, but Bobby only looked at me sadly and shrugged massively, hands clenched at his sides. "You win. I'm gay. All right? My father will fucking kill me, and Scott's going to have an I'm-not-an-observant-leader crisis, but I'm gay. I'm lousy in bed with women, I don't especially like breasts, and I dated Opal solely because her voice was deeper than mine. And Hank *does* know, thank you very much. I am not as repressed as you think I am."
"Well, then," I said jovially, grabbing Warren's ass, "let us party like men."
"You are sweating like a pig," I commented seductively, wrapping my arms around Warren's torso as I came up behind him, finding him with my drink in tow and taking it back into my possession. Warren gave me a look, one those I-told-you-so glares especially meant for these moments. "You know how I love sweaty Angels ..."
"Drink your drink," he said with a smirk, lifting his arm as I ducked under it, coming around to stand next to him, hugging him close to me one-handed. "This club is full of children. I am feeling ancient. Old."
And to celebrate his old age, Warren gulped his martini down in one breath, catching the olives with his fingers . I smiled and sipped my drink, eyes on the crowd. "At one time, that was me, when I managed to escape my responsibilities. I have spent too many nights of late sitting in my room, missing my misspent youth."
"You and me both," Warren muttered, "but Bobby seems to be having a good time."
"He is drunk," I commented with a laugh, kissing Warren's jaw as it moved with the action of chewing the olives. He was decidedly the least annoying person when eating that I had come in contact with, which was a blessing in disguise because watching other people eat tended to sicken me. "And a very cheap one at that."
"That's our Bobby," Warren replied, "makes the most of his money, and me, I have to keep dealing fives to get a buzz. Be right back."
I nodded as Warren disappeared towards the bar, standing there without moving and admiring the handsome crowd. Bobby and Remy were close, not dancing with each other but two steps from it. Bobby was being fawned over by some dark-haired, doe-eyed student, while Remy was entertaining three men, knowing full well what he could do to people just by existing, but, despite all logic, the Cajun's eyes kept drifting to the Iceman.
And we were all old men in a sea of children. I took another mouthful of gin, savouring the taste before letting it burn down my throat. Warren came back and seemed to understand my mournful expression, laying his arm over my shoulders.
"At least Bobby came out." And after a second, "and we formed the Q-Men."
"Saving the world from repression and bigotry. There's a need, mon amour, even if we're safe in here." I sighed deeply, staring into my drink. "I sometimes forget about how far this world has come. These ... *children* do not know what it felt like to suddenly find out there was a so-called gay cancer. They do not what it felt like to hide in your room and want to be proud. They have a chance at raising children and living together and feeling the blessing of acceptance."
Warren looked at me seriously, his features locked in concern. "You still have time for all of that, you know, plenty of life left to live. Joking aside, we are both quite young. I don't see why you seem to think that won't be yours if you want it."
I looked at him, unable to read his secrets. "Do you want it?"
"Sometimes I do," he confessed, "other times I accept that I'm more than likely to end up one of those rich, old men who die alone. I guess, I'll just have to wait and see how it all works, and hope to hell I'm wrong when I say that about my future."
I bit my lip. "Warren, could we be brutally honest here for a moment?"
He looked at me, concerned. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you."
"Do you honestly see yourself alone in the future?" I love you, you American idiot, why can you not *see* this? And why can I not just say it? And Warren, Warren looked at me and didn't answer, just stared. "Oh, forget it."
"What happened to brutal honesty?"
"I said *forget it*."
I turned away from him, having lost the strength to betray my emotions to him. I could not begin to guess why this was so hard for me, perhaps because, for all my talk, I had never been in a serious relationship and was terrified of how wrong it could go if something between us was soured. I did not want to lose that. I could not bear to hear that Warren did not return my feelings as strongly, I could not dare to risk losing my current happiness, I could not ...
"I love you," Warren said in a rush of breath, staring at the crowd but speaking to me. "I mean, *really* love you. I just wanted to say that, be brutally honest for a moment there. And no, I don't see myself alone, I see myself with *you* but you shouldn't know that yet because I shouldn't be saying this to you. It is far too soon, Jean-Paul."
I blinked. Warren Worthington, Mr. Quiet Brooding Ball of Angst, was babbling incoherently beside me, just speaking his mind, betraying his heart. Warren Worthington, who had this way with words that wraps you around his fingers and doesn't let you go, was *babbling*. "I love you too."
Warren blinked in surprise. "You do?"
"I do," I repeated, looking at him and smiling a very *shy* smile. The first time we made love had been amazing, but nothing would ever compare to this, the melding of emotion and soul into something that would last. "And I see a future with you, Warren, and that scares me to admit, but I do. We *are* young; we have all the time in the world to make this beautiful."
"I think it already is," Warren whispered, leaning close to my ear, and I turned to him, kissing those sweet and soft lips, in front of everyone, in front of the world. Warren held me so tightly, so deliciously secure in his love, that I moaned when he pulled away, whispering words to me. "And I want to make it more beautiful."
I pulled back to see his eyes, tracing the swell of his cheek with my finger, and Warren licked his lips, looking sheepish and young and gorgeous. So where were the words? It didn't seem like we needed them because I *understood* full-body was he was saying to me.
"Is Remy ...?" Warren asked suddenly, watching Remy try and woo Bobby away from his admirer, shaking his hips as if that would somehow convince Bobby who he was meant to be dancing with right at that moment. "My God, Remy is ..."
"Oh, l'amour," I replied. "Let them be. They could be beautiful, too."
"I guess Bobby could do worse," Warren conceded, seeing them dance, watching Bobby laugh and watching Remy give the expression right back. They were both drunk off their horses, but stranger things than them had happened. Warren and I were proof of that. "And Remy is really not *that* bad, just a bit irritating."
I planted a sloppy kiss on Warren's face, blessing his cheek. "And people say you hold grudges."
"Who? Me? Never," Warren dead-panned, bringing the martini to his lips and sucking it down. I grinned. Bobby and Remy weren't going to be the only ones drunk out of their minds. "You know what I just realised? How the hell are we going to get home? I can't drive."
"I can drive."
"You're drunk too," Warren said, and I shook my head, looking shocked that he'd even suggest such an utterly preposterous idea. I was slightly tipsy and sobering rapidly. "But not drunk enough, baby. Let me get you another drink. Do. Not. Move."
And Warren grabbed me and kissed me, right there, in the middle of the crowd, dipping me in his arms and sucking the breath right out of me. I was struck dumb as he pranced away, avoiding everybody who came too close to his back. I had not expected him to do that.
Bobby was currently looking at Remy as if the Cajun was wearing a pink dress, shaking his head in response to every plea to dance Remy offered. Finally, sensing actions would speak louder than words, Remy grabbed Bobby and began to waltz. Bobby was swearing at him but wasn't backing away, letting Remy have his dance.
"Some hairy fellow just asked me to go home with him," Warren said as he returned, pushing a glass at me, and I took it without question, taking a mouthful. "I was, like, sorry, sir, I'm attached, and my boyfriend is a mean lad. He might beat you."
I crooked an eyebrow, peering at him over the rim of the cup. "You are completely bizarre when you are drunk, I hope you know this. There will be plenty of teasing tomorrow, Warren, I am warning you now."
"Believe me, whatever you come up with will be nothing Bobby and Hank haven't thought of before. Quite frankly, I'm surprised I'm still dressed. I tend to get naked *very quickly* when I'm drunk. The urge is strong," Warren confessed.
"Then we better put some dancing time in," I whispered, putting our glasses on a ledge and grabbing him by the shirt, dragging him to the centre of people. "Come on, mon amour, let us move this party onto the floor, so I may properly grope you."
Warren nodded and followed me into the sea of men. Before long, we were all over each other, pressing our sweat-soaked bodies together as our hips moved in tune with the beat. It was a nice song, less angry than some of the others, and I recognised it immediately, though I couldn't put a name to it, but I knew all the words.
"Warren," Bobby hissed, frightening us both back to present when we had been so busy concentrating on each other's movements that we hadn't even seen him come so close. "No, Jean-Paul! Help me!"
"What?" I asked, pulling away from Warren but still using him as support. That last drink Warren fed me was making me see stars. It was a wonderful feeling, but I was sober enough to recognise a look of terror when I saw one. "Bobby? What is it?"
"Remy is ... I think Remy is coming onto me," Bobby said seriously, as if we all hadn't noticed Remy's actions for the last hour. Warren and I shared a look then turned back to Bobby, waiting to hear what the problem was. "What am I supposed to do?"
"What do you usually do, Bobby? Men are pretty much women with dicks," Warren said solemnly, as if he could barely remember how to speak let alone give advice. "Actually, scratch that. Men are like ... you. If you were seducing yourself, what would you do?"
Mon Dieu. "If you listen to him, I will personally deck you. Follow your instinct," I said slowly, trying to ignore the flabbergasted look of betrayal for his wisdom that Warren shot my way. "And you *are* drunk. Do not let that cloud your better judgement. Take it easy."
"But what if he wants," Bobby's voice lowered significantly, "*that*?"
"Do you want that?" I countered, aware now of Warren hooking his chin after my shoulder as his hands crept along my belly, just touching and petting. Just. I laughed at myself. One touch from him and I could barely think. "Bobby?"
"I don't know," he said, looking past me to where LeBeau stood, demon eyes focussed on our little group. "Maybe. Kinda. Sorta. You know how you think about things, and it's just thinking, but the minute you start doing, it becomes a little surreal?"
Warren pressed so tightly against my back that I could feel his desire pressing against me, speaking to me more intimately than any words could, yet I managed to nod and answer Bobby. "I understand. Do what you want to do, not what you think you should do. In the end, all that matters is that you had this time to escape the outside."
"I think Warren's about to die," Bobby commented casually, smiling his thanks for the advice, and I looked over my shoulder, meeting those glazed eyes. "You know, we never accounted for Warren's car. Are you guys going to get a room in the city?"
"I think so," I said with a smile, lifting my hand to ruffle Warren's perfect hair. "And I believe we will be leaving to find shelter now before Warren passes out. Will you be all right here alone with Remy, Bobby?"
"Sure," he replied, "and Jean-Paul, thank you."
I smirked. I knew it.
Finding a room and checking in went off without difficulty, though Warren made me go back and check on the car to make sure the alarm system was on. I agreed, provided he drink three cups of coffee before I returned. On the way back to the hotel, I stopped in the local late-night drugstore and purchased an array of necessities.
"Do I know you?" The man at the counter asked as he rang in my purchases, toothbrushes, toothpaste, condoms, lube and a bag of licorice. I blinked at him, fingers immediately going for my ears. Had I forgotten the image inducer? "Your face is really familiar."
"I am just that type of man," I said with my best American accent, inwardly wincing at how ridiculous I sounded. I was already placing bills on the counter, mentally trying to track money that wasn't colour-coded for my convenience.
"Hot date tonight?" He asked, putting the items into a bag.
"Something like that," I muttered, sounding like a drunken New Yorker.
"She must be some lady to take all this care with her."
"Oh," I replied, tucking my change into my wallet, "he is."
And on cue, a look of surprise touched his face, and I held my hand out to get the bag. Sure enough, he dropped it the second before I could take it, and it tumbled to the floor, the contents spilling out onto the tiles.
"You think that has not been done before? You think that you have just committed some grace injustice against my person?" I asked quietly, dropping to my knees to pick up my purchase. "Your type is all the same. There is no variation."
"Fucking faggot," he hissed, spitting at me and very narrowly missing.
"Like I said, your kind is all the same. Have a pleasant night, I know I will."
And I left him cursing at the counter, condemning me and judging me and hating me, all for reasons that were ignorant and fear-inspired. The only solace I took was the fact Warren was not with me. He did not need to see that firsthand, not today, not when it would happen another hundred, thousand, million times.
By the time I returned, Warren was sitting on the bed and staring at the wall. I dropped the plastic bag on the desk and walked slowly to him, allowing him no time to ask why, just pushing myself into his arms and trusting him to know what to do.
"Did something happen?" Warren asked quietly.
"I will tell you about it tomorrow," I murmured into his shoulder, feeling the wings twitch under his shirt. Deciding to let the bird free, I unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. Kissing the exposed skin, my fingers went to unbuckling the harness, aware of how wet and hot his body had become. "You poor thing."
"The troubles I suffer for these things," he said quietly, closing his eyes as the wings spread grandly behind him, overjoyed to be freed from their jails. "And I would not want it any other way. The other wings, the metal ones, I'm just very glad they're gone."
"At the very least, I could not tease them without losing my hand." And to further my point, I ran my fingers over the arc of the left wing, loving how it shivered and twitched, responding to even the gentlest touch. "Are you sober, Warren?"
"To a point," he admitted, "but the world is still spinning."
"If you are tired," I started, only to be cut off by his fingers pressing to my lips, and I glanced at him, melting under the heat of those cool blue eyes.
"Jean-Paul, I was serious when I said I wanted to be with you earlier. Just don't ask me to tapdance and I'll be fine," Warren whispered, leaning up and pressing a heated kiss to my neck, one hand curling into my face. "Trust me when I say this?"
"You know I do." And his body spoke to me in that most intimate way possible, and mine answered right back as I settled on him more securely, wanting just to feel the heat of his skin and be comforted by it. "Warren, before we delve into passion, how do you wish to do this?"
"I take it any sex with you on your back is out of the question."
"That is a very good assumption," he said seriously, though I could tell immediately he wasn't quite at that point and was doing it more to be funny, an apprehensive reaction. "Unless you want me whining for weeks about how the weight of us both sprained them. And I will whine. Ask Jean. For never having to beg for anything as a child, I'm surprisingly good at it."
"You're nervous," I said, calling him on his bluff, and he shrugged again, refusing to look at my face. "Warren, it as all right to be a bit anxious. The first time I *really* shared my body with another man, I was so tense I made it painful for myself. It will be fine if you just relax a bit, let it come as it will and do not force yourself into it, not when you are a virgin."
Warren crooked a blond eyebrow, smirking. "You know, I haven't had anybody say that to me since I was thirteen."
"Thirteen? Mon Dieu! I was still masturbating with a guilty conscience at that age," I confessed, grinning as I remembered fondly the fine and enlightening summer of nineteen eighty-three. "But really so young, Warren?"
"It is amazing what young, rich brats will do with their time," Warren replied, "I just happened to learn sex before anything else, which turned out to be a curse. Soon after, the wings grew in and there went my sex life. It's one thing to masturbate and have no idea what you're missing, it's another to *know* that Mr. Hand is just no comparison."
I smiled and nodded, deliberately running my fingers over his chest, tracing the arc of muscle and tweaking the nubs of flesh hidden that stood out proudly from his beautiful body. All this talking was having an adverse affect. "So, mon amour, if you want to change the subject, I will pretend that nothing between us has changed."
"I want to see your face," Warren said quietly, watching my hands move across the tight muscles of his flat belly. "But other than that, Jean-Paul, I don't know, just, if we can avoid it, I don't want my first time to resemble mating dogs."
"Then we do it like this," I said quietly, straddling his hips and showing him what I meant, trying to sell him the idea. In truth, it hardly mattered if he did change his mind because I had no preference really, but his lack of enthusiasm was not at all encouraging. "Warren, if you want to back out, do it now."
"No, I ... I'm curious enough that I won't even consider it," he said carefully, "and first, let me up so I can piss. Your three cups of coffee was a good idea, but you know I have the bladder of a pregnant woman. Be naked when I come out."
"No pun intended?" I asked with a grin.
"None," he whispered, kissing me hotly then stepping back, disappearing to relieve himself. I smiled as he did a little dance before entering the washroom, swaggering in a very enticing manner. I would give that man one thing for sure, he knew how to use his body to get what he wanted. That idea both pleased me and made me sad. I wondered how often people refused to see passed that perfect form he hid behind.
I pulled off my shirt and tossed it to the ground, standing up to unzip my pants and grinning to myself when my penis sprung from its jail, greeting me. I was not one of those nutcases who talked to their genitals, but I respected mine immensely, so much so that I felt the overwhelming urge to give it a friendly nod.
"Jean-Paul?" I looked up to see Warren's amused expression, that strong body nude and leaning against the doorway to the bathroom. I suppose I should have thought it odd to have a lover whose skin colour resembled the sky, but I adored it tremendously, loved how the blond hairs on his body seemed to scream for attention, look at Warren's face, his eyes, his cock. Three of his best features, I thought with an inner laugh, three parts of an even more gorgeous whole.
"Warren," I replied quietly, holding out my hand, and he came to me, protesting only mildly when I led him to the bed. I knew what he was going to say, so I rubbed his back calmly, whispering in his ear. "Lie down. First I need you to be comfortable with those parts of you society seems to think are dirty. Trust me."
"Only you," Warren replied, climbing on the bed and waiting for direction, and I pressed my fingers to the small of his back, settling him onto his belly. Warren brought his arms under his head as a pillow and waited patiently, penis flaccid between his legs. Not for long, I thought with a smirk, not for long, Warren.
"Warren, before me, did you have much experience here?" I lay the palm of my hand against the cleft of his buttocks, a solitary finger touching the tight right of muscle between those perfect orbs. "And honestly, Warren."
"Nothing, really, before you," Warren muttered, flushing lightly, his skin becoming slightly purple, "the girls I fucked weren't into anything but me drilling between their legs, penis or tongue. I was hard pressed to even get oral sex out of it, didn't like to swallow, you understand."
"More's the pity for them. I happen to know you taste magnificent," I said quietly, massaging the rounded cheeks with my hands, settling so I sat lightly on his legs. "Warren, nothing will happen that you do not want. If you feel uncomfortable, only make the move and I will gladly switch positions."
"I know. I trust you."
"Good." And I pressed my tongue to the centre of back, licking up his spine until I came to his neck. Feeling his shiver, I started my tongue even lower, following that same incredible path. "Warren, I love your body. I think it is the most beautiful sight I have ever beheld."
"Yeah?" He asked softly, shifting slightly as the heat between his legs grew. As my tongue trailed a third path, he arched his back and his wings lifted slightly, hovering there. "Jean-Paul, forgive me, but is this sanitary?"
I paused mid-lick on the fourth try, lightly slapping his ass. "Warren, you are the cleanest man I have ever met. Besides bathing three times a day, I know your bathroom routine. I could eat off your ass, which is what I plan to do, so stop being such a conservative."
"I said I was sorry before I said it," Warren mumbled, and I leaned up to kiss him, ignoring the slight start he gave when he realised what I intended to do, but he returned the loving embrace fully. I quickly began to forget that anything else in this world existed but his lips.
"Now shut up and let me work," I said affectionately, breaking that wonderful kiss and resuming my position on his legs. Warren sighed and closed his eyes, settling comfortably on the blankets. Bearing no pretense this time, I immediately touched my tongue between his legs, hitting that hot and hidden centre of being he worried about so much.
"Urgh," Warren yelped eloquently, always such a man with words, and pushed up, but I held my hand on his back, not allowing him to move. I moved with heightened urgency, allowing no contact with his body save for the one hand and my tongue, and Warren wiggled on the bed, face buried in his arms, absolutely enthralled by my actions.
"And that, Warren, is one of many ways your ass can serve to please you," I whispered, kissing the back of his head and laughing at the grunt he gave me in response. "Warren, mon amour, you are not allowed to come yet. I want to feel it on my belly, I want to feel your legs around my waist and my cock deep inside your body."
Warren nodded wordlessly, and I smiled, reaching for the bag of condoms and lube, but Warren wrapped his hand around my wrist, halting my actions. "I had Hank test me, Jean-Paul, and I know the Canadian Government must test you more than you like. I'm clean. If you can promise me the same, I want to feel you without any barriers."
"I have not been with a man in over a year, and all my tests are clean, Warren. I would be honoured," and damn you, Jean-Paul Beaubier, for choosing this moment to become weepy, "if you would allow me to be with you so completely."
And the kiss that followed that choked declaration was one I was going to put into the records books as being the most love-filled kiss I had ever received in my life, full of hope and joy and *amour*. Warren eventually broke it, taking the bottle of lube and giving it to me, smiling sensuously as he waited for my move.
"Lay down again," I murmured in his ear, and he took his place as I dripped a line of lotion over my fingers. Gently, I eased the first in one and met with only mild resistance, some lingering fear that wouldn't disappear until he was entirely sure he had no reason to be afraid. "Mmm, Warren, you have no idea how sexy this looks."
Warren coughed, and I laughed lowly, catching his meaning as he dissolved into a gorgeous blush again, hiding his sheepish grin. "I didn't mean to look, really, I just had a mirror, and I ... well, I can see why it turns you on."
"I am such a good influence on you," I replied breathlessly, sliding in a second finger and thrusting deep, testing how he responded to that. His hips rolled smoothly and he pushed back at me, taking me for all I offered. "Mon Dieu, but you are hot, Warren."
"Flattery will get you everywhere," Warren laughed, throwing his head back when the third finger entered and hissing a sharp gasp. I scissored my fingers inside of him, resting my other hand on his shoulder as I worked his body into full submission. "Jean-Paul, will I have to beg?"
"What do you want, Warren?"
"You," he said simply, and I withdrew my fingers from his body just like that, ignoring the moan he gave from the sudden emptiness. Wiping my fingers on the bed sheet, I sat back and prodded him with my toe, leaving all the rest up to him.
"You are so beautiful, Warren," I whispered as he sat up, hair tousled, mouth parted, panting lightly as he looked at me, so obviously far beyond the point of no return that I had to hide my own look of extreme relief. I wanted this so badly.
"So are you, Jean-Paul, such a gorgeous man," and he touched my face, fingers pulling across my cheek as he perched on my lap, thighs set astride my own. "I'm a bit nervous, I'll admit, but I don't know why. A cock would be so much better than fingers, right?"
"You have no idea," I whispered, kissing his chest and feeling myself get teary again. Warren smiled and lay his head on mine, thumbs brushing away my silly tears. Was he the one I was going to finally settle with in life? I didn't know, I hoped that maybe he was and I didn't have to look quite so hard anymore. All I knew for sure was that his love was making me cry when none other had ever wielded such power over my existance.
Warren sat up and straddled my waist, biting his lip as he grinned shyly, taking my erection in his hand and holding it tightly, moving further up my body. I leaned back a bit, resting on my elbows, and he shifted again, finding the perfect position.
And I lay there, watching as he gave himself to me, closing his eyes as he slowly settled on my body, taking it centimetre by centimetre, pausing more than once to accustom himself to my size, as boringly average as it was. I was absolutely captivated by the look of him, of the strict determination and mounting pleasure, of the complete absence of pain.
Finally, we were fully connected, and Warren sat there, not moving, barely breathing. I lifted my hand, and he caught it, bringing to his chest and holding it there. Slowly, carefully, he moved his legs, and at first I wasn't sure where he thought he'd put them. It soon became obvious, those long blue legs wrapping around my hips as he took me in deeply, wings brushing my ankles.
"Are you well, Warren?" I whispered, fearing maybe he'd pushed himself too far, but he opened his eyes, focussing that intense gaze on me, those eyes so purely blue I knew they saw straight to my soul. "I fear if you move, I am going to come inside you."
"You and me both, Jean-Paul," Warren mumbled, testing the waters and shifting his hips, hissing as the sensation, clenching his jaw. "There is ... I do not think I have the words, Jean-Paul, to describe what I'm feeling right now. It's something beyond incredible, a breath away from beauty. Take me higher, Jean-Paul, make love to me."
So I moved, letting the ripples take mirrored responses from him, so deeply inside his body I could not help but wonder if there had to be pain somewhere hidden inside the unending pleasure. If there was, he gave no betrayal of it, and we rocked in symphony, clutching at each other, bending into kisses as our bellies mutually trapped my erection, sliding over it in the most incredible manner imaginable.
Warren and I were kissing as we came with each other, seconds separated from being washed with fantastic pleasure. Warren whispered into my mouth, "I love you", and I gave it back to him, fingers buried in his feathers, "I love you." And we both wept, openly, for no reason other than something immensely beautiful had happened between us, reality had descended and swallowed us whole into her embrace.
And for a moment there, it was only us in the world, and I could finally say for certain that this was going to last, that I didn't have to search anymore, that years for now I would still know this man and he was going to be solely responsible for stealing the nagging loneliness from my life.
I was going to be able say all of that and still say ‘I love you' and mean it.
A knock on the door roused us early, and I blinked sleepily, walking to the door and throwing it open, paying no mind to my blatant nudity. Bobby stood there, strangely chipper, and Remy was standing across the hall, back pressed to the wall. It was Bobby who spoke, "morning, Sunshine."
"Mon dieu, do you have no respect for your elders and the amount of sleep they require?" I muttered, wiping the sleep from my eyes as I stretched grandly, reaching for the heavens with fingers spread. "Are you coming in?"
"Are we interrupting something?" Remy asked with a grin, regarding me with amusement.
"Just sleep," I replied, stepping back to let Bobby and Remy enter then closing the door behind them, taking a good look at my semen-stained body. It was nothing neither of them had not seen before, and if they had not figured out Warren and I were sleeping together, then they were also idiots and deserved to have the bubble of ignorance popped. "Warren, mon amour, we have guests, get up."
Warren nodded and lifted himself into a sitting position, still barely awake. If he was more coherent, he probably would have thought twice before leaning his head on my shoulder for support, fingers touching my chest intimately.
"We need a ride back to the mansion," Bobby said, blushing darkly as he averted his eyes to the window, admiring the cloudy sky. "All three of us had a training session, which we've now missed. We need to put a story together."
"We went out. I got laid. That is my story," I replied with a leer, enjoying the laugh Warren gave me through his early morning sleepiness. "I suppose I could explain how I abducted you, forced you into a club then pushed you to dance, quite closely, with this here Cajun."
"Or you could not."
"Would it be so bad, Robert, to admit to an ‘us'?" Remy asked, lifting his eyebrows over the dark rim of his sunglasses, and Bobby blushed again, a hot red. I dropped my jaw as Warren laughed, a dazed sort of laugh that betrayed his lack of rest. "Bobby?"
"Maybe not," Bobby reluctantly agreed, trying to escape Remy's roaming arms before they clasped him around the waist. "You realise that we're going to get even worse responses than the lovebirds over there. They're going to think you seduced me."
"How wrong they'd be, non?" Remy hissed in Bobby's ear, grinning at the spluttering Bobby gave as a response, such a deep shade of red that he bordered maroon. "Don't let the boy fool you, hommes, it's all an act."
"That's it, I'm dumping you right now. My shortest relationship ever at seven hours. Bye-bye, Gumbo, this man is moving on, finding somebody who will appreciate him," and Remy made sure the body he was firmly attached to wasn't going anywhere, latching onto Bobby so tightly Bobby had to eventually give up if only so he could breath again.
And as I settled against Warren's chest, surrendering to those warm arms and quietly watching the hopeful sight of new lovers, I could not help but feel content, like all was well with the world, at least for a little while.