Piqued, Repiqued and Capoted

Title: Piqued, Repiqued and Capoed - 2
Author: Flyingskull
Source: Heyer's "Devil's Cub" and X-Men comic books
Pairings: Logan/Remy/Kurt
Archive: Do not archive, please. My site is almost ready and that will be my archive.
Rating: NC 17
Warning: Kinkiness inside.
laimlaimer: Don't own the X-Men and don't own the Heyer characters. I do this purely for fun.
NOTE: Holly, hun, sorry I didn't post when I said. RL reared its ugly head. This is my first fic and also my first attempt at erotica. The hard stuff will be described next chapter, I thought two would suffice, but alas, Heyer's leisurely rhythms caught me. Please forgive and excuse my attack of cold feet: my mom is on this list and, though I know she supports me, she's totally refused to beta it on the grounds that she'd enjoy it more if she didn't know it. I hope this is not so bad. Thank you for past FB and I'll try not to plead too much for more.

PIQUED, REPIQUED AND CAPOTED - 2


The Marquis came back with a fresh pack of cards. 'Cut, Mr. Wolverine,' he said; the other man obeyed and won the deal.

'What shall we play for?' LeBeau drawled. 'The usual stake?'

'I had something else in mind, my lord.' Mr Wolverine said firmly.

The Marquis laughed suddenly and abandoned his drawl. 'We'll play for love, Mr Wolverine.'

Mr Wolverine paused in the middle of the deal. 'I can scarcely suppose, my lord, that would amuse you.'

'Not in the least,' grinned the Marquis, 'but I don't fleece my relatives, or care to be fleeced by them.'

Mr Wolverine jumped. 'Sir?'

'Well, sir?'

Mr Wolverine carefully laid down his pack. 'Do I understand you to mean you favour my suit, my lord?'

'I suppose if Rogue wants you, she'll have you. She's as strong as a bull and infinitely more persistentt itt it out of your head that I have anything to do with it.' Having delivered himself of this diatribe, the Marquis smiled impishly. 'Now name your stake, sir.'

Mr Wolverine nodded and completed the deal. 'Without wishing to be guilty of impoliteness,' he said in a tone that belied his words, 'your temper is such that would preclude love as a stake.' Mr Wolverine paused thoughtfully for a moment and then said: 'We shall play for pleasure.'

LeBeau laughed, a trifle giy. My. Mr Wolverine's smile was more than a touch feral, and it put the Marquis forcibly in mind of a predator savouring the hunt. 'For pleasure, Mr wolverine?' he asked. 'How?'

'The loser gives the winner complete sovereignty over his body for the rest of tonight,' said Mr Wolverine, still smiling his disquieting smile. He noticed the Marquis had been taken aback, but was recovering nicely.

'I see Carlisle has gossiped,' LeBeau said, a trifle contemptuously. 'Lord, what an old woman that man is!'

'That's as may be,' said Mr Wolverine. 'I do not comment on my patron. Well, my lord? Will you play?'

'Oh, I'll play, I'll play!' the Marquis answered at once. 'I'm drunk enough and bored enough to risk it. A word of warning, though,' he added, picking up his cards. 'Carlisle doesn't know the whole of it… or even the truth of it. You may be disappointed, if I win.'

Mr Wolverine's eye flew up, interested. The dissipated young man facing him was a more complex creature than at first appeared. His resolve didn't falter, but it changed, subtly. Maybe the Devil's Cub was in need of more than one lesson and he was happy to oblige him.

'I don't intend to lose, my lord,' Mr Wolverine said quietly. A fleeting doubt about the decency of exploiting the Marquis' drunkenness to his own ends made him add: 'You can still refuse to play, my lord. I see I was misinformed.'

LeBeau's eyes opened wide and for the first time that night he studied the man in front of him. Once more, he had to revise his judgement, Mr Wolverine was a force to be reckoned with, a dangerous man, a man not to be trifled with. The Marquis was not sure he fully understood the game the man was playing, but he was sure that, if he lost, he would be made to pay rather more than he was ready to concede.

For a moment he was tempted to accept the way out he was being so gracefully offered, but his pride rebelled at that. He was a gamester to the core; the greater the risk, the greater his desire to play. But he was not so drunk and reckless as to follow impulse without ascertaining one thing first.

'Are you perchance a friend of Mr Creed and looking for revenge, sir? He asked, looking Mr Wolverine firmly in the eyes.

'No, may lord,' Mr Wolverine said. 'I met that gentleman…' He stopped at the Marquis' snort of scorn. 'That gentleman,' he repeated firmly, 'for the first time in my life tonight. I believe I have an innate passion for justice, though.'

The Marquis smiled charmingly. 'I perceive I should have let that *gentleman* blow a hole through me,' he said.

'Not at all,' Mr Wolverine replied gravely. 'But I think that disarming him would have sufficed.'

'I see,' LeBeau said. 'You were repulsed by my murderous attack. He'll heal, you know?'

'He may well do that, my lord,' Mr Wolverine said, intent on the Marquis, the cards forgotten. 'But that is not the point.'

The Marquis nodded. 'And you wish to teach me a lesson in justice?' he said.

Mr Wolverine was surprised. He had not supposed the Marquis would have seen it, as drunk as he was. His plans for the night underwent a further change. The boy was attractive, his smell enchanting, his intellect bright and his body irresistible.

There was danger there, a very real danger. Mr Wolverine had no intention of losing his heart to the spoiled heir of a very powerful and rich family. He envisaged a happy married life with the lady of his choice and a plentiful family. Whatever pleasures he privately would seek, would be kept apart from his family life, but that would be in the future.

Tonight the temptation was too strong, and he would see to it that the Marquis could get no hold over him. Mr Wolverine smiled unpleasantly. 'Yes,' he said baldly, 'among other things.'

LeBeau shivered a little at Mr Wolverine's tone of voice; and even he could not have said if it was a frisson of fear or anticipation. 'I'm devilishly drunk,' he said with charming simplicity. 'You saw what I can do when drunk.'

'I heal as well,' Mr Wolverine said, indifferently.

'I congratulate you.' His lordship dipped his head in an ironical bow.

Mr Wolverine laughed suddenly. LeBeau observed with interest how the other's face changed utterly. Mr Wolverine, laughing, had lost all his look of brooding menace, and had transformed himself into a handsome, witty, attractive companion.

'I'll play!' the Marquis said. 'You have my word I'll not explode you.'

Mr Wolverine picked up his cards. 'I never doubted your honour,' he said.

LeBeau inclined his head once more with no trace of irony, this time. 'Four only,' was all he said.

Mr Wolverine picked up the remaining four cards. 'I was under the impression that I detested you, my lord,' he said.

'I thought as much,' the Marquis said. 'A point of six, a quinte and three aces. Six played. But now you find that I can be quite agreeable and you reserve your judgement.'

Mr Wolverine drew six cards from his hand with some deliberation. 'True,' he said. 'Yet I confess that, from time ime,ime, I find your manner calculated to arouse feeling of animosity in my breast.'

The Marquis gave a bark of laughter at that, and they played the rest of the hand in silence. As the cards were gathered up, he said: 'Your hand, I believe sir.'

'Mr Wolverine nodded. 'Luck was on my side, I think,' he said.

'And ability,' LeBeau said. 'I was a trifle careless with the discards.' He finished shuffling the cards and started to deal.

'Thank you,' Mr Wolverine said, a little surprised. He had no expected the young man to recognise his mastery so easily. 'You concede the victory, then?'

'Oh no!' LeBeau said. 'Never. Not until the last card, at least. I play for keeps, Mr Wolverine.'

'And so do I,' Mr Wolverine said. 'Three only.'

They played in silence, cards dropping like leaves on the table. LeBeau won the second rubber, but he did not feel like commenting on it. He had a suspicion Mr Wolverine had let him win, but not even in his cups, would he emulate Mr Creed's boorish behaviour.

The third rubber was dealt and both players picked up their cards. A slow smile spread over Mr Wolverine's face. 'A quinte,' he said slowly, savouring the words, 'a tierce, fourteen aces, three kings, and eleven cards played, my lord.'

The Marquis cast a frowning glance at the galaxy of court cards which were spread before his eyes, and a very dubious glance at the back he ohe one card remaining in Mr Wolverine's hand. 'Oh, the deuce!' he said. 'All hangs upon this and I swear there's nothing to tell me what I should keep.'

'Nothing at all,' Mr Wolverine said a trifle smugly.

'To chance, then, and may fortune help me,' LeBeau said toasting the air with an imaginary glass. He shuffled the cards in his hand and proffered them, face down, to Mr Wolverine. 'The devil take m I b I bring about my own downfall,' he said. 'Do me the honour of choosing a card, sir.'

Mr Wolverine grinned, appreciating the gesture, and picked a card, offering it back to the Marquis face down.

LeBeau turned it face up with no hesitation. 'A diamond,' he said.

'Piqued, Repiqued and Capoted,' said Mr Wolverine, almost caressingly. 'You lose.'

The Marquis rose and bowed. 'I am at your disposal, sir,' he said, his voice steady.

'Pay homage to my member, then,' Mr Wolverine said. He saw, with satisfaction, the Marquis' blood ebb suddenly from his face, making his eyes seem two abysses into horror.

Much shaken, the Marquis went round the table and kneeled wordlessly before Mr Wolverine. The fact that he was too high to achieve his aim even on his knees, and that he had to sit on his heels, seemed to comfort him; and he bent his head, ready to perform his task.

Mr Wolverine had no intention of allowing the Marquis to abase himself in a gaming hell, what he wanted was to test the young man's willingness to pay his forfeit and to warn him, at the same time, that he could, and would, take his pound of flesh without a qualm.

'I have changed idea,' Wolverine said. 'We shall go to my lodging.'

LeBeau got up, his head spinning. There was no mistaking the message he had just be given. He regretted drinking so much… or perhaps not enough to carry this through with enough grace and style. Glumly he recognised he would probably be broken on the rack of the older man's animosity, and he cursed himself silently for a fool.

Oddly, he had not a thought on the other's quite evident desire; he felt detested and despised by the powerful man regarding him in amusement, and never imagined that lust was the force that had impelled Mr Wolverine to issue his challenge.

He thought fleetingly to call on his mother for help. Lady Grey, the Phoenix d sud surely fly to his aid and incinerate this presumptuous noblood who dared lay claim to her son's person. The shame he felt at this cowardly thought tinged his pale cheeks with rose, and he hung his head, not daring to look Mr Wolverine in the eye for fear of showing his secret shame.

Mr Wolverine had appreciated the Marquis readiness to obey and his elegance and self control in assuming a humiliating posture, so he was nonplussed at the sight of such evident confusion. What was the boy thinking now? Was he afraid? Outraged? An unwelcome feeling of pity entered his heart, to be routed at once by the steel resolve to possess the young Marquis utterly. Nothing would be allowed to interfere between him and his pleasure tonight.

+++++++++

Mr Wolverine lest himself and his companion in with his latchkey. Silently he led the way up a narrow staircase and into a spacious flat. His valet de chambre awaited him, clearly warned by the closing of the street door. He was a slender demon-like being dressed in a bright red and white livery which set off his dark blue fur.

The Marquis' eyes widened at the sight and he turned to his companion in surprise. 'He's of the Blood!' he said.

'Obviously,' Mr Wolverine said. 'I found him in Germany, during my travels. He was beset by a rabble intent on depriving the world of a beauteous being, and I was glad to be of some assistance to him. He's been with me ever since.'

His tone of voice made it clear he had caught and understood what the Marquis had been too well bred, or maybe too shocked, to say. The people of the Blood were the aristocracy, no matter how humble the origins from which their gifts had sprung. It was unthinkable to make one a servant, especially for a noblood like Mr Wolverine.

LeBeau bowed, impulsively. 'Honoured to meet you, Mr…?' he said, letting the question hang in the air.

'Kurt Wagner, sir' the charming demon said, bowing in his turn. 'If you will give me your hat and cane, sir…' he continued, deftly retrieving the objects in question from Mr Wolverine. His voice was soft and velvety; his German accent gave an unexpected seductiveness to his words. He was deferent without being servile, and his thin heart-shaped face was alive with impish piquancy.

'Charming, isn't he?' Mr Wolverine said with a hint of ,malice, following the Marquis' admiring gaze. 'But we'll dispense with his services tonight. Kurt, show my lord blueblue room ,take his coat and go. I'll take care of the refreshments.'

Obediently, the Marquis followed the blue elf to a spacious and well appointed bedroom. He felt so keenly the injustice of forcing one of the Blood to live as a servant, that he forgot to be embarrassed by Mr Wolverine's brutality in making his situation clear.

'Mr Wagner, he said earnestly as soon as they entered the room. 'Please believe me and my family at your service. I'm LeBeau, son of the Duk Xav Xavier, You have only to knock at their door to find a save haven. I'm sure my mother, the Lady Grey will adopt you into the family.'

'It's not a very respectable family, mind you!' he added laughing at Kurt's unenthusiastic face. 'But they'll make you welcome. I'd offer you my protection, but I am so unfortunately situated tonight, that I cannot guarantee to be able to protect you from Mr Wolverine. But as soon as the sun comes up, I'll be a free agent again and quite willing to do my utmost to help you.'

The furry valet bowed at this, LeBeau's purple velvet coat lovingly draped over one forearm. 'Thank you, my lord,' he said, 'but you misunderstand. Mr Wolverine has saved my life and is uniformly kind to me. I have chosen my profession and I am in need of no help.'

Mr Wolverine, entering the room as Kurt was going out, had heard his valet's reply. Bottle of Bordeaux and glasses in hand, he looked, arrested, at his captive Marquis who had managed to turn an object lesson in humility and shame into a chivalrous attempt to save a blood brother.

Having to put down the bottle and glasses, gave Wolverine a good excuse to hide his admiration. It wouldn't do for the Marquis to become too cocky right now. 'Sit down on the bed,' he said curtly, without bothering to turn.

The Marquis sat and waited. He was getting soberer by the minute, and, as he was by no means deficient of intellect, he interpreted correctly Mr Wolverine's reason for the order and his curtness: he wanted to take him down a peg and, being so much shorter, could hardly loom over him, were he to continue standing. There was nothing to be gained by antagonising a man who could, had he wished to, literally command him to cut his own throat or inflict whatever shameful practice he choose upon him.

Having disposed the bottle and glasses to his satisfaction, Mr Wolverine turned to his captive. Without a word he went near the sitting Marquis and took off the amethyst and diamond pin which secured his cravat. Then, slowly and almost tenderly, he unknotted the cravat and let it fall on the floor.

He then slipped the purple velvet riband that confined the Marquis' hair and went to pick a hairbrush. With slow smooth strokes he freed LeBeau's hair of the light dusting of powder that marred its silky brightness, and stood back to admire his work. Satisfied, he gathered the loose tresses in his hands and brought them forward to fall on the Marquis' breast.

Wolverine unhurriedly unbuttoned the Marquis waistcoat and slipped it over the young man's shoulders, caressing the slimly muscled arms in all their length. Then his hands, no longer hooked to the waistcoat, rouched the ample sleeves of the Marquis' shirt upwards.

Still caressing, his knuckles brushed LeBeau's nipples through the silk of his shirt; Wolverine brought his hands up again and untied the silk thongs, tipped with amethyst and diamond aigrettes which twinkled in the candle-light as is in sympathetic answer to the flash of amethyst and diamond drops that pastured on the Marquis' cheeks when he bent his head down to see.

Slowly Wolverine untied the five thongs that held the Marquis' shirt's upper portion together. He paused to gaze at the long elegant white throat and, almost of their volition, his fingers closed on it.

LeBeau stopped breathing entirely, caught in that slow sensual game of undressing; his eyes were unafraid, even trusting, in Wolverine's eyes; his body relaxed entirely and he looked more a lover than a sacrifice.

Mr Wolverine smiled enigmatically, and his hands relaxed and slid down the swan neck with its hard and masculine Adam's apple, to rest and gently seesaw in the hard and shallow valley of LeBeau's collarbones. Speaking so softly that LeBeau would be excused for not hearing it, he said: 'Raise.'

The Marquis rose, not quite steadily, and stood waiting, again,

With a feral smile playing on his lips, Wolverine snickted out three long bone razor-sharp claws of his right hand. For all his control, he couldn't help grinning broadly in answer to LeBeau's luminous and relieved smile.

The Marquis felt his heart soar. He hadn't been able to reconcile his mental reading of Mr Wolverine with the one of a shameless exploiter of the Blood. But now all was clear, the man was of the Blood as well, and his intuition in the gaming hell vindicated: he would be treated honourably. He would be used, yes, undoubtedly used for pleasure, but not dishonoured, Gone were all the fears which had accompanied him in the walk to Wolverine's home; he was ready and even eager for this congress,

Wolverine brought down his lethal claws and with care and control he shredded the Marquis' breeches. A few brushing motions were enough to free the young man's legs of all restraints. Then the outermost claws snickted back in and the middle claw, like a sword of sensuality, ripped open the silk shirt reaching to the Marquis' mid-thigh.

Gaze firmly fixed on the young man's nether regions and body so aroused his breeches felt like fetters, Wolverine said, huskily: 'Lie down on the bed.'

The Marquis complied. His elegance and economy of movements enhancing, rather than hiding, the unselfconscious proffering of his body. Freeing himself of coat and waistcoat with an inelegant, impatient gesture, Wolverine climbed on the bed, hungry gaze feasting on the lovely silk sheathed muscles so wantonly displayed.

For a moment he paused thus, drinking beauty with his eyes and then he bent down and his lips and teeth grazed all over that long exquisite body. From throat to crotch his famished mouth kissed, licked, pressed and bit, leaving in its wake a trail of spittle and desire. His hands gripped, squeezed and massaged the long thighs, following an unconscious rhythm of lust and ownership.

LeBeau gasped and twitched, aching to prolong contact and to let the waves of uncontrollable desire sweep him away. His member proclaimed his awakened lust and his whole body yearned for more. Fleetingly he acknowledged the older man's experience and passionate care, and he exulted in it. Maybe Mr Wolverine was not the one to have won, after all,

Feeling the Marquis' arousal under him, Wolverine increased the depth of his bites and the force of his squeezes; until he was rewarded by a shuddering half-cry, and he knew the time was ripe.

Swiftly he grabbed a pomade dish on a little shelf on the bed stand, and he raised the young man's knees in a powerful and smooth movement. He was rewarded by breathless burst of laughter. 'You're always prepared!' the Marquis said, gasping.

'Hush!' Wolverine hissed, but even he could hear his heart was not in it. No matter, he thought, LeBeau would get his comeuppance later and, for the moment, his affectionate trust and passion suited him very well. He deftly scooped a dollop of perfumed pomade and anointed the tight puckering entrance that was willy nilly presented to him.

The sensations flooding his body and mind were overpowering and the young Marquis understood for the first time the point to Mother Clap's Molly House, He still felt no desire to don feminine attire, but if this almost unbearable pleasure was the reward for that type of congress, then the people who went there were surely not dotards to despise and tease. This was exquisite and refined pleasure, "la crème de la crème".

When Wolverine's finger entered him, LeBeau moaned and squirmed: he wanted more and more. It hurt and felt utterly unlike anything else he had felt in a dissipated and varied life; it yearned and refused at the same time; it felt perfectly right and utterly wrong at the same time. He knew it was just the prelude, but it felt like the conclusion to an unsettling and stimulating evening.

Mr Wolverine had no difficulty in reading all this in his captive's face and eyes. His smell, too, had subtly changed, and was affecting him like a powerful liquor. His index finger did not seem to want to leave his hot, quivering, silky sheath, It wanted to dance and explore inside to elicit more hot tight quivers.

With an act of will greater than any he had been called to exercise all night, Mr Wolverine forced himself to withdraw his finger and to prepare to invade the conquered and captive entrance with his powerful member. He knew the beginning of the act would bring sharp pain to both, but he was never one to count the cost to a much craved end; besides it was too late to stop.

Wolverine took a deep breath, bracing for pain and plunged his engorged member in the flushed and inviting hole of the Marquis's arse. They both cried out at the same time and their mingled pain made them one. Wolverine stopped as soon as he had gained entrance to give both the time to adjust.

LeBeau's red eyes were glowing with passion and lust, they shone brighter than any candle and seemed to fire an answering red gleam in the depths of Wolver's b's blue eyes, 'Please, sir,' the Marquis breathed; Wolverine trusted his hips forward eliciting a long and tortured cry that acted like a spur to his desire,

All thoughts of pain forgotten, Wolverine gained his prize with ruthless glee, He smashed inside the tender flesh, aiming for the pleasure spot, revelling in the feel of resilient and surrendering tight muscles. Soon all his plan of conquest by control was forgotten and he abandoned himself to the overwhelming sensation of welcoming pleasure and passion.

He was surprised that his merciless lust was met by equal desire, he was surprised that each thrust of his hips was met by an equal unrestrained thrust of the young man's hips. If he wanted to conquer the Marquis, the Marquis se fir fired by the desire to possess him utterly.

Grunting and moaning, gasping and sweating, the assault seemed endless and, in some curious way, disjointed from time. Flesh smacking on fleeyeseyes burning in eyes, both the savage and the aristocrat were fused in a desire that seemed to transcend both and create an animal with four arms and legs and one fulcrum cementing all parts in a sweaty, lustful, passionate, *loving* whole.

Slow measured thrusts gave way to frenzied coupling, both cried out and moaned as the tempo changed. The Marquis' arms encircled the older man's powerful lust-driven body to push him even closer, the Wolverine's hands squeezed frantically the small plump buttocks only to feel long sinewy fingers squeeze his own more prosaic ones.

They strained against each other in a desperate bid to fuse their flesh together, and, harshly, surely and uncompromisingly, savagery met longing and refinement met compln, an, all the devious and various purposes of the night forgotten.

They reached ecstasy together with a howl and a shout forcing their body to an even tighter union, then fell back in a swoon, but still each holding unto the other as if to be unjoined meant death. Mr Wolverine's fat, short yard still nestled in the Marquis' convulsively gripping hole. Arms and legs entwined they looked like Aristophanes' beast with four arms and legs and their head were so near it was extremely difficult to see where the Marquis' cinnamon locks ended and Mr Wolverine's strong black hair began.

They remained thus locked for a while, learning to breathe again; and at last their senses returned to them and they looked at each other, wonderingly.

The Marquis was the first to regain a measure of self and disengaged gently, rolling on his side and over to straddle Mr Wolverine's relaxed body. Wolverine's hands went to his buttocks, on their own accord; and he lay looking up at his captive boy, a little sated smile curling his lips.

His lover's hands kneading his buttocks, while their knuckles danced a dance of ownership and teasing desire on his arse; LeBeau smiled the first unfettered smile he had ever smiled in his life.
veriverine was entranced by it. It shew him the boy, trusting and loving, and the young man, lusty and yearning: a vessel to be filled with love and sensual pleasure. A timeless time passed, filled with the pleasure of owning and teasing the pouting and shivering mouth-not-mouth which had given him so much pleasure before.

LeBeau smiled unguardedly and bent towards his lover's lips. 'Come with me in France?' he whispered and bent further for a kiss,

Mr Wolverine openis mis mouth to say 'yes', but an icy spike of fear stopped him. What was he doing? Was he falling in love with the lovely Marquis? Impossible! There was no chance for such a love, no chance for such a mating of body and soul. He shivered and found his resolve again. No, better go on with his plan; better to squeezer the last drop of pleasure from that sensual and enticing body and then go his way.

Never to see the Marquis again. Never to touch the Marquis again. Never to bugger the Marquis again. Never to hold the Marquis again, deeply imbedded in his flesh, and never to be held by the Marquis again with passionate and convulsive strength. 'Regain control, Logan Wolverine,' he thought. 'The boy is ripe to be taught his place, nothing else is of any interest to you.'

He turned his face away, though his hands still lingered; and found a snarl in his confusion. 'Keep your mouth away, dollop,' he said harshly.

The Marquis looked earnestly at him, disconcerted, Surely Mr Wolverine had felt the same thing as he; surely he had hold as tight as he was held; surely his heart was not untouched… Oh, but the night was not done and it was surely too soon to think of such things and toer ker kisses. LeBeau straightened and, once, more, waited in silence.

'Get off me.' Mr Wolverine said.

TBC