A Cure For Boredom

Gambit slumped on the couch, his duster tossed in a crumpled heap beside him. One hand rested between his thighs holding a deck of cards. The other idly flipped each card over and tossed it towards an ashtray. The cards ignited one by one and flamed brightly as they sailed toward the ashtray and, by the time they hovered over the coffee table, were a pile of cooling ash floating on still air. Every once in a while, he ran his fingers through his spiky hair and scooted a little on the couch.

Behind him a door opened and heavy footfalls sounded on the wooden floor. Half turning, Gambit watched Wolverine stalk into the room. There were moments when he enjoyed baiting the sometimes temperamental, oftentimes brusque, non-mutant. One look at the tense shoulders warned Gambit that this was probably not a good time.

“Mon ami,” he nodded as another card, the Ace of Spades, sailed through the air and disintegrated.

Wolverine rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t expected any one to be around, it being a warm Saturday night with nothing to do, no Sentinels to battle or Senators to debunk. Finding the Cajun on the brown leather sofa tossing flaming cards across the room made him frown. He’d really wanted time alone to sort his thoughts. He grunted in response to Gambit’s greeting and when the next card, the Queen of Hearts, went sailing, his spiked fists impaled it in mid air and he watched as the plastic-coated paper flamed and crumbled to ash.

Gambit’s eyes narrowed and the deck of cards began glowing brightly in his palm. “Things were peaceful here.” The implied ‘until you showed up’ hung quietly in the air.

The razor sharp talons retracted beneath he skin of his knuckles and Wolverine seated himself on the edge of the couch. His leather pants creaked as he shifted. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same, but I don’t,” Gambit lilted as he took two cards from the deck, both already glowing hotly, and sent them spinning.

“I’m bored,” Wolverine admitted. “Everyone has plans.”

Gambit said nothing for a moment. He knew who ‘everyone’ was. A wicked smile crept over his lips. It was a dangerous game, but he always enjoyed danger. “As you have nothing better to do, perhaps you could settle down between my knees here--”

Wolverine didn’t allow the sentence to continue before his talons were again out and gleaming in the lamplight. “Easy, pal.” But he grinned a little as he said it.

“You have no sense of humor,” Gambit shook his head with mock sadness.. “No wonder you always alone.” His accent slipped deeper into his Cajun patios.

“I’m alone because I want to be.” Wolverine bristled a bit as the statement hit a little closer to home than normal.

“You alone because you make people nervous and you’re temper gets the better of your judgment.”

Wolverine‘s thick brow rose. “You don’t seem to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not, mon ami.” The lips again twisted into a dark smile. “Those blades don’t frighten me.”

Wolverine’s fist moved closer to Gambit, the bright adamantium glittered with a silver edge. They moved easily over Gambit’s face along his jaw. The Cajun didn’t flinch and Wolverine had to smile at that.

“I shave already today,” Gambit remarked.

The blades moved lower, along his throat, and Wolverine felt himself growing distant from the movement, as if someone else controlled his body. The silk shirt parted easily beneath the talons, falling away to reveal the hard lines of Gambit’s chest and flat stomach.  Wolverine was unable to lift his eyes or make his hands obey his command to stop. He was oddly attracted to Gambit’s semi-androgyny.

“That was my favorite shirt,” Gambit placed one foot on the coffee table and leaned back. “Maybe I should return the favor?”

It was Wolverine’s turn to grin. “Whadda ya going to do, Cajun, light my pants on fire?”

Gambit’s hand snaked out and touched Wolverine’s black clad thigh. The material glowed softly and smoked. The leather was scored with the imprint of Gambit’s hand. Wolverine jerked his thigh away and his claws dragged a long welt over Gambit’s skin. The Cajun sucked in a deep breath as blood trickled over his chest. “Damn!”

Instantly the claws were encased in skin and Wolverine bent to examine the wound. “It’s not deep,” he said with relief and feeling contrite. He hadn’t meant to hurt his friend, only tease him a little. He struggled to apologize, but the words stuck a little in his throat so he settled for a grunt.

Already the wound was closing as Gambit’s mutant powers kicked into over drive. “It is nothing, mon ami,” Gambit waved away the wound a lot more easily than he was able to wave the feelings it stirred. He twisted a little and placed his hand over his crotch. “I think maybe this round a draw.”

The movement wasn’t lost on Wolverine. He’d already noticed the bulge in Gambit’s leather pants.  He fixed his eyes on Gambit’s crotch and he heard his voice say, “Round two, then,” and his hand, claws extended, moved down lower, scraping over the skin until it reached the waistband of Gambit’s pants. The material gave way with a soft ripping sound. His fascination with Gambit grew.

“Maybe you not so bored anymore,” Gambit laughed and his hand moved aside.

“Maybe I’m not,” Wolverine agreed. As Gambit’s cock sprang free, he moved the edge of one talon over it and watched it jerk and quiver.

“If you’d followed my first suggestion, we could have saved my clothes.”

“Not nearly as entertaining,” argued Wolverine. He dragged the single claw up the underside of the twitching penis.

Gambit’s cards fluttered to the floor, forgotten by the Cajun. His hand moved and his fingers touched Wolverine’s shoulder. The flesh warmed beneath the clothing as the mutant exercised precision control of his powers. Wolverine looked up with a smile and his hand moved lower, nestling between Gambit’s thighs. Before he knew it, his shirt was gone and warm hands caressed his flesh, heating the skin wherever Gambit’s hands passed. With all his claws fully extended, Wolverine teased the Cajun’s skin, demonstrating that he, too, had precise control over his own powers. Gambit only laughed as a adamantium claw dragged across his nipple, causing it to pucker. A little shiver of anticipation crawled along his spine as he reached down and cupped Wolverine through the leather and felt his friend’s response.

A flick of his wrist released the catch on Wolverine’s pants and his thumb slid the pull-tab on the zipper. His hand wiggled inside the material, caressing warm flesh that throbbed against his palm. He smiled wickedly into Wolverine’s eyes.

“Damn Cajun,” Wolverine muttered as he leaned forward, across Gambit’s body and brushed his lips against the strong jaw. His pants slid over his hips as he shifted to his knees, towering over the less-muscled man. He kissed along the jaw and up until his lips captured Gambit’s. The lips beneath his parted and his dipped his tongue into the warm sweetness. A soft groan escaped his throat and their tongues slid against each other.
He moved his hands, dragging claws over the mutant’s pale skin, leaving behind the smallest welts; not deep enough to draw blood, only red lines that quickly faded.

A warm hand caressed him, growing hotter as the fingers wrapped around his length and slowly stroked upwards. His talons retracted, Wolverine pushed at Gambit’s pants and the material folded top over, peeling away like skin as the Cajun shifted his hips. Boots, pants, the tattered remains of Gambit’s shirt, all landed softly on the floor, the removal hardly noticed.

Wolverine lowered his head, tracing kisses along the welts left by his claws. A hand in his hair urged him lower. He resisted, taking his time to draw a puckered nipple into his mouth and used his teeth against it until it was hard against his tongue. At the flat planes of Gambit’s belly, he dipped his tongue into a the small navel and circled it slowly with the tip of his tongue. The rise and fall of Gambit’s breath told Wolverine the mutant liked what was being done to him.

Nor was he ready to complain about the warm hands stroking and petting him every where. Wherever Gambit’s hands passed, Wolverine’s flesh immediately heated. The temperature created a soft burn, not painful, but intense. Intimate places were not sacrosanct. His inner thigh and scrotum were hot, as if he’d stood a little too close to a bonfire. Sweat trickled down the small of his back.

At last, Wolverine put his lips around Gambit’s penis and sucked gently. He stuck his tongue against the slit and heard Gambit moan. He rolled his tongue over the head and down, flat, against the throbbing vein. Hairs tickled his nose and he hummed gently in his throat.

Gambit thumbed him lightly, the small callous on his digit rough over the smooth head. Sticky pre-cum covered his fingers and Gambit pulled his hand away and touched his lips. His tongue lapped Wolverine’s essence. Hot. Musky. Gambit laughed a little to himself. What else had he expected?

Wolverine raised his head and licked his swollen lips. He could taste Gambit in the back of his throat. “What are you laughing at, Cajun?”

“You,” Gambit placed his fingers against Wolverine’s lips. “You taste like wild places.”

Wolverine parted his lips and sucked Gambit’s fingers into his mouth, tasting salt and his own essence. He watched Gambit’s eyes dilate and grow darker. He knew his own were the same. With a sudden, quick movement, Gambit flipped Wolverine over, bare bottom on the couch. Wolverine frowned with puzzlement until Gambit clambered atop his lap. Their cocks pressed together as Gambit settled on Wolverine’s thighs. The leather couch creaked and Gambit placed his hands on either side of Wolverine’s head.

“Animal, you mean,” Wolverine said.

“Not an animal, mon ami,” Gambit lowered his head and took Wolverine’s earlobe between his teeth and gently nipped the tender flesh. The muttonchops tickled his own clean-shaven face. “But maybe this one time, you act like one for me, no?”

Wolverine could feel Gambit’s smile. “Maybe this one time,” he agreed and his claws raked over Gambit’s bare ass, this time drawing a hiss and trail of blood.

Gambit growled, sounding more like Wolverine, and bit down on the man’s throat. He sucked the flesh, leaving behind a purple-red bruise. Wolverine’s head dropped back, exposing his throat, and Gambit sucked and bit the strong column, moving his hips sensuously so that their arousals stroked against flat stomachs. He left a trail of bruises in his wake. He lowered his head further, nuzzling the fine hairs on Wolverine’s chest, parting them with his tongue as he searched for the pale disks of the man’s nipples. His fingers pinched them and the flesh grew hotter.

Wolverine hissed and arched his back. The pain was minimal. His fingers dug deeply into Gambit’s thighs, just below the firm globes of his ass. Gambit’s mouth felt cool when his tongue replaced the strong fingers and lapped the disks until they ached. His fingers pulled Gambit open, exposing his small opening to the cool air. One finger edged the rim, felt the muscle immediately tighten and then slowly relax. He knew that Gambit liked it because the mutant’s teeth sank painfully into his bottom lip.

Gambit placed on hand behind Wolverine, wriggling it between the warm, sweaty back and the smooth, cool leather. He kept moving his hand down, until he managed to wiggle his palm beneath Wolverine’s ass. Wolverine helped him a long by bracing his feet against the sofa edge and lifting his hips a fraction. A warm finger penetrated him to the first digit and he grunted as his muscles gave way far more easily than he’d imagined possible.

With half lidded eyes, Wolverine stared beyond Gambit’s shoulder. He felt the burn of his insides as two fingers pushed inside him. He bit Gambit’s shoulder even as he slipped a second finger inside the Cajun. He felt a ripple of pleasure pass through Gambit. He withdrew his fingers and heaved the smaller man off the couch and they stood, pressed groin-to-groin, wedged between the coffee table and the couch. He lowered his head and captured Gambit’s lips with his own, thrusting his tongue deep into the warm cavity and sucking the mutant’s tongue. He pushed his hand between the firm mounds and found the puckered opening again with his fingers and thrust two inside, hard and deep. Gambit’s jerked against him and their cocks collided, trapped between their bodies.

“So this is how you want to play,” murmured Gambit, pulling his mouth away for a moment and his own hand went around Wolverine’s waist and his heated fingers sought out Wolverine’s opening.

A third finger pushed inside Gambit and he groaned. He felt it only proper to reciprocate and felt Wolverine’s body relax against the invasion even as the strong hips thrust harder against his own groin. He twisted his fingers together and wriggled them, flexing his strong wrist and touching Wolverine’s prostate. He felt the man tremble and a deep groan resonated in his chest.

Wolverine pushed the bodies slightly apart and reached between them, capturing both cocks in his large hand. They were slick with pre-cum and he stroked them lightly, holding them pinned together. His thighs strained and his whole body trembled. He pushed his fingers into Gambit up to the knuckles and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. “This,” he agreed, “is how I like to play.” And he began thrusting his fingers in and out of Gambit, fast and hard, matching time with the strokes of his hand holding their cocks. His own opening stretched and pulled as Gambit worked him faster, hitting his sensitive nub every time and drawing a soft whuff from him.

Sweat slicked them both and they trembled as they held on to one another. Their ragged breathing seemed impossibly loud. Their cocks twitched and pulsed beneath Wolverine’s capable ministrations. Gambit wrapped his free arm around Wolverine, holding him steady as the man’s jerking hips grew more frantic and he pressed down harder on the mutant’s hand, forcing Gambit’s fingers as deep as they would go.

Gambit was so close to the edge he could feel himself falling. “Come with me, mon ami,” he begged softly as his hips lurched against Wolverine’s hands.

Wolverine growled, sank his teeth into Gambit’s shoulder and thrust his hips forward one last time. Gambit allowed himself to slip over the edge, his own orgasm drawing a pained hiss from behind his clenched teeth. Their bellies were sticky and their bodies trembled from aftershock, causing them both to sway on their feet. At last, Wolverine allowed himself to fall back onto the couch, dragging Gambit with him. They sprawled, limbs akimbo, on the leather sofa and collected their breaths.

“Still bored, mon ami?” Gambit asked with a mischievous grin.

Wolverine playfully arched an eyebrow. “A bit,” he teased.

“Harumph,” Gambit shook his head. “I suppose there is always the kitchen..”

“The garage,” Wolverine began to get into the spirit.

Gambit lifted his head and stared into Wolverine’s eyes. “Cyclops’ motorcycle…”

A large grin spread over Wolverine’s face.