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At Your Own Risk

Chapter 1


With his fingers digging into the side of the mattress, Scott knew this had been a stupid idea. He wasn't drunk, wasn't even a little tipsy - though they'd all been drinking - and there would be no excuses or pretense in the morning. He watched Logan slowly unfasten his belt in the dimness as his back knotted with tension and his mouth went dry with fear.

"Eh - Scotty, w'at?" Breath warm against his neck, as Remy's long fingers dug into his shoulders. Scott flinched and Remy leaned abruptly back. Logan's hands stilled at his fly, a glimpse of dark pubic hair sharpened the ache between his legs.

"What the fuck, Scott. Y'were all over us at the bar. We ain't forcin ya."

"I know." Scott stood abruptly and headed towards the door with the stiff-backed walk that had gotten him through a lot in his life. He should have put that walk to use when he first saw Logan tonight - in the haze and dark of a bar where he should have run into no one he knew. "I - can't. Sorry. Have to go."

His palm was sweating as he reached for the doorknob and Remy's voice came soft and Southern slurred in the quiet.

"De door ain't locked, cher."

Scott felt the rush of misery like fire as his throat tightened. He twisted the doorknob, feeling the latch give, even as he sagged against the cool wood, head thumping softly against it. He couldn't stay, he couldn’t go and he wanted to scream with frustration. Behind him, bedding rustled as Remy slid off the bed and came to him. Scott swung around, one hand locked on the door, attention darting between the tall, long limbed thief and Logan in the background; arms crossed, a silent, massive shadow in the night. The door behind him felt like an escape and the two men were an escape of another sort entirely, one he craved but couldn't have. Scott hated the treacherous hammering of his pulse - betraying him to Remy's empathy and Logan's nose. Desire and fear made his stomach ache and the familiarity of the sensation made him ill.

Remy spread his hands wide, voice soothing like he was gentling a wild animal. It made Scott wonder if he used it on Logan when the man was half out of his mind with fear or rage. "No one gonna hurt ya here, Scotty. Nothin' gonna happen here that you don want, eh?"

"I know that." He snapped but the twist of fear in his belly didn't.

"Mebbe so, mebbe no." Remy smiled, teeth gleaming briefly. "Just a reminder, ouai. You wan to leave?"

Scott stared at him, at them both.


God, the thick sound of his voice sickened him. He could feel the tremors in his body, making him feel cold and making him look like the messed up coward he was. "You don't - have to do this. It's a waste of your time."

Remy only chuckled and took a slow step closer. "I don waste my time, Scotty. Remy always where he want to be."

Scott didn't move as Remy came closer - hypnotized like a rabbit by a snake. When the warm hands touched him, stroking across the tight muscles of his chest, he shuddered against the door, gaze still fixed on Remy's long face.

"Mmmm." Remy murmured, watching him, red eyes luminous in the dark - devils eye's - and Scott watched them and not the hands moving over him, making his shiver, pant and flinch. Those hands were more soothing than arousing now, palms and fingers moving in firm circles on his body - little more than a massage. "Come lie down, cher, let Remy do his magic."

Shaky, Scott let himself be led. Let himself be pressed down onto the bed, let Remy kneel next to him. All his attention was on Remy, shutting out the rest of the room, Logan, struggling to shut away the fears seeping out of the back of his mind, trying to not think, not remember. Scott had done it before. He could do it now. If he did it right, he could drift, not really thinking of anything, hardly feeling. He could scratch this itch and hardly remember anything about it. The room seemed to darken and now it made him glad.

"Non -"

Those warm hands left him. "Scotty - stay here. If you wan leave - den you leave. Don cut out."

His lips parted, Scott struggled for words. "I can't - I want - I - I can't."

Remy's face was in his narrow vision again, red and black, shadow and sharp edged cheekbones. Fingertips gentle on his face, stroking his jaw with tenderness that made Scott blink and swallow. Alive again, unwillingly.

"Stay wid us, Scotty." He murmured. "Trust."

Scott shut his eyes, trembling. He didn't know how to trust. Not here, not like this. His chest heaved under Remy's still hands, eyes aching as if he was a child and wanted to cry - but he wasn't a child and he couldn't cry. Not anymore. Even before his mutation, he'd learned not to cry.

"Cyke." Logan's voice rumbled through the dark - too familiar to be frightening, even now. "Hell, we're your friends. We got your back. Like the brat said - nothin' gonna happen here y'don't want."

"This is different," He muttered.


"This is - is - "

"Trust." Remy was practically purring his words now as his hands stroked down Scott's chest, then up again. Again, warmth soaking in Scott along with words. Trust. Friends. Pleasure. Good. Want. Need. Pleasure. Safe. Trust.

Warm pressure against his chest, Remy murmuring with his mouth pressed over his heart while his clever thief's hands stole the tension from his shoulders. Scott felt like he was melting, head sagging into the pillows. Now Remy's fingers were rubbing his jaw, pressure against the habitually clenched muscles made Scott groan. He was still dressed, so were the others, and it was better than any fuck he'd ever had. He shifted, arms relaxing, frustrated by the barrier of his T-shirt but nervous about wanting it off. Scott didn't want anything to change, didn't want everything to suddenly bad again. Bad like it always was.

"Want dis off, Scotty?"

Scott swallowed, arching a little into Remy's hands but unwilling to speak. He didn't want to sound - eager, didn't want to sound like he wanted what he wanted. Desperately wanted and sometimes hated himself for wanting.

"Not doin' wat you don want," Remy went on after a heavy pause. "Go to tell us, ouai. Want dis off?"

"Yes." Scott ground out, unable to fight the need in him. Remy's clever hands slipped his shirt off and resumed the long strokes down his chest and belly and up along his shoulders and arms. It was long moments before Scott could relax again, hyper aware of bare skin and that - eventually - there'd be a price to pay for this pleasure. Nothing was for free - pleasure especially.

Remy stroked him like it was all he wanted to do. Scott warmed under those hands, under the attention he could practically taste - every time he opened his eyes - he'd see the red dot's of Remy's mutant eyes and the wide shadow of Logan above them both. His breathing steadied and the warmth seeped down into his blood, between his legs and his cock lifted up against his pants. He shifted uncomfortably, Jean thought erections looked silly and Scott was often embarrassed by his own - more often than not it was only proof of his own inability to control himself. Remy was humming to himself as his hand glided down at the same soothing speed Scott had adjusted to and stroked over his hard cock. He was so relaxed now that he only groaned and rocked his hips into the touch, then stilled, flushing.

"Sorry." Scott muttered, throbbing with pleasure.

Remy chuckled softly, hand kneading him. "Sorry? Eh, cher if you ain't hard Remy done lost his touch."

Scott couldn't help the way his hips moved, dancing to Remy's tune, the way his breath came in occasional gasps or the soft groans that slipped from his mouth. His pants were as frustrating as his shirt had been, he could feel himself leaking against the cotton of his briefs and the rise and fall of sensation was bringing him closer to that place where he could forget himself for a few moments. He bucked, urgently.

"Get him otta that." Logan voice, low and rough.

He was being stripped and if he didn't help, Scott was glad that he at least didn’t panic. Usually when he went out to a dark and nameless bar for this particular itch he didn't take his clothes off. Didn't even get a room - just ended up face first on the hood of a car or in an alley while some faceless cock gave him what he couldn't quite do without - no matter how hard he tried.

He was naked, cock wilting slightly with nerves, blinking at Remy and Logan. Logan was right there, knees against the bed, watching. His pants were undone, cock in hand and Scott's attention was riveted there. Big, was all he could think for a moment. Big and thick, uncut - of course - and jutting proud and hard from his pants. Scott felt a twist of something - pleasure, pride, gratitude, excitement - as he realized Logan was getting off on watching him. Or at least watching Remy with him. His cock stiffened again.

Then, Remy's hand was there, giving him a long pull and Scott couldn't hold back his faint cry - especially when he watched Logan begin stroke himself in rhythm with Remy's hand jacking his cock. "Oh, god!"

Hands again, wrapped firm and warm against his cock, letting him throb and thrust in the snug space. Hand wedged lower, stroking and squeezing his tight balls. Scott clutched the sheets and bit his lip, watching Logan jerk off as Remy jerked him off and wished - wished he was where Logan's hands were. On that big cock, pulling it, making the tip gleam with moisture in the dark. His hips snapped up at the thought, Logan's hand moved faster. Remy's hand moved faster, fingers twisting cleverly at the end of his cock.

"Suck him, Cajun."

Scott stiffened at the words, mouth and eyes flying wide. His breath was shocked out of him as Remy bent with an easy laugh and took him into his mouth. Wet velvet and a hair-raising pull made Scott wail, hands going instinctively to grip Remy's tangled hair.

"Yeah-h - Gonna make you come, Cyke. Gonna suck you deep, drink you down. Feel that tongue fucking y'dick. Remy's gonna make y'shoot fer me. C'mon."

The satisfied rumble of Logan's voice was like his own cock talking, Scott moaned and thrashed, hearing Logan as if from a distance as he encouraged Remy to suck him deeper, take it all, make him come. Remy's mouth obeyed - tongue thrusting against the underside of his shaft, lips fluttering, and the pull and pull and pull as he sucked like a baby at a bottle. Scott couldn't control himself, couldn't stop himself couldn't stop them from making him writhe and whimper and cling to Remy and feel the heat swelling and swelling inside him. All he could think was more - more - heard himself moan for it, felt a tight flush of shame that was pleasure at the way he sounded. Like a slut, like a toy, like the only thing that mattered was his cock, Remy's mouth, Logan's watchful, heavy presence.

"Make him come. Make him come for me, Rems." Logan growled breathlessly. Scott managed to drag his eyes open to look at the man standing above them. His hand was pumping fast and hard and, as Scott watched, a thread of pre-cum trailed from the tip of his cock to gleam in the faint light like spun silver. Logan was going to come - he was going - going -

Scott howled, jerking convulsively and curling around Remy as his climax shook him like an earthquake. He came deep and hard - hands fisting spasmodically in Remy's hair as he felt the tight flex of the thief's throat as he swallowed him down. Logan grunted harshly and cum spattered thick and heavy across Scott's arm and hand - across the back of Remy's hair as he spent his load over them both.

He collapsed limply onto the bed, feeling it shudder as Remy jerked himself off with a soft keening cry of relief and in tune to Logan's obscene muttered encouragement's. The thief slithered up Scott's body, still panting. Even now, Scott couldn't quite keep from tensing.

"Cher -" Remy rubbed his face against Scott's like a cat. "No fear, eh?"

"It's what y'wanted, Scott - right?"

The uncharacteristic uncertainty in Logan's voice made him pry his eyes open when all Scott wanted to do was sleep and pretend this hadn't happened. He couldn't see anything in the black shilloutte but he wasn't about to screw up someone else's relationship because he was a screw up. Logan and Remy were an item, he was just - a bad idea. He knew what he had to say.

"Yes." Not quite a lie. Not entirely the truth.

Remy rolled abruptly off him with a hiss. "Goddammit!"

"Remy -" Scott started.

"Remy don want you're guilt, Scotty." The thief swung around, pants still undone, hair wild, eyes burning. "Der ain't no guilt here - ain't nothin to be ashamed of. Remy ain't ashamed of feelin good and bringing good to you, ouai!"

Scott jerked up, out of the bed, furious. "What the hell do you know about it, Gambit! My fiancée is two rooms over and here I am - here!"

"That such a bad thing?" Logan asked quietly, dangerously close to saying out loud what Scott desperately didn't want to hear. "Being here?"

Scott snapped his mouth shut. His problems - and Jean's - were no one's business but his own. He zipped and buttoned his fly, fumbling with his belt and refusing to look up. He didn't want to see the look in Logan's eyes, the one that knew about him and Jean and what was between them - and what wasn't. This time, he didn't stop at the door, only paused.

"Sorry." He muttered and slipped into the dark hallway, shutting the door behind himself.