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Disclaimer: Remy leBeau and Henry McCoy belong to Marvel. This story contains explicit m/m sex, including some violent and non-consensual activity. If this will offend you or you are too young to legally read this kind of material, stop reading now. Please ask permission before archiving. Feedback is treasured forever.
Continuity: this is set some time before Legionquest/AoA, ie. well before Dark Beast, Onslaught or the whole Trial of Gambit mess.
Many thanks to: Snark, Dannell Lites, Mercutio, Mourning Glory and Beastfiend.
Red in Tooth and Claw
The man hiding in Henry's laboratory had obviously forgotten about scent, and, living in a house with Logan, that was unforgivable. Perhaps, though, knowing about Logan's amazing senses dulled the knowledge that the Canadian was not the only one whose senses were beyond the norm. It was either that, or the fact that long-term smokers can't even smell their own smoke, let alone more subtle aromas. Either way, Henry was left with a dilemma: why was Remy hiding perched on top of the ceiling fan? He'd been there for a while, long enough for the acrid odour of the ghosts of cigarettes past, sweetened with soap, perfume and anticipation, to take over every sterile corner of the white room. It was all very odd. Remy never even entered the medlab, let alone the laboratory. He hated them both, to the point that when he was injured in battle or training, Henry had to cart his supplies up to Remy's bedroom. Room Service, MD. Henry chuckled, deep in his chest, at his little joke, and went over to his main computer. He was intensely aware of Remy, silent above him, but the urge to see what the Cajun would do next was - barely - beating his need to simply ask what the man was doing there. If he wanted to be hidden, so be it, he was hidden, at least until curiosity could delay gratification no longer.
Remy breathed quietly and slowly, sitting comfortably on his heels. His long fingers absently explored the warps and gouges that were inevitably left when a large blue, furry man hung from a ceiling fan, no matter how strongly einforced. In the middle of summer, the lab was suffocatingly close, and Remy wondered how long Henry would resist turning on the fan and discovering that he was not alone. The thick blue fur was already damp with sweat at the back of his neck and down his sides, clinging closer to his solid body and forming little spikes and swirls. Remy fingered the three disks in the pocket of his baggy cargo pants and wondered how he was going to get away with this one. He wasn't the most trusted X-Man at the best of times, and being caught pilfering inforation - even
worse, Morlock medical records - was hardly going to help his case. He hadn't really had time to look at the screen as he downloaded, but the few glimpses of the casualty list he'd had gave him a grim, sour taste in his mouth. And he'd been too casual, too sure of Henry's blithe nature to plan the heist as thoroughly as he should have. Stupid. The doctor had never been hostile to Remy, but Remy was suddenly sure that he would protect his laboratory as fiercely as Remy loathed it. Remy had a very clear mental picture of Henry picking him up by the scruff of the neck, like a bear with an errant cub, and marching him off to the Professor. Right now, though, Henry looked like he was settling down at the computer. Remy shifted slightly, silently, just to keep his legs from going to sleep, and prepared to wait.
Henry was really becoming quite irritated. His fans were for cooling quite as much as for hanging from like an enormous blue fruit-bat. He was not entirely sure what climate his mutant evolution had designed him for - his fur was Arctic-thick, but he had less body-fat than an average human, let alone what was needed to survive true cold - but it certainly wasn't this seeping humidity. He extended one foot from his comfortable crouch, found the remote for the air conditioner and switched it on, although he really needed the big overhead fans to ruffle his fur and allow the cool air to penetrate to his skin where, like any human, he was sweating profusely.
Remy blinked in surprise, almost like Henry himself, then smiled slowly. When Henry had performed his balancing act to reach the remote control, he had given Remy a fine idea of the shape of the large, taut buttocks beneath the baggy black shorts. An idle lust stirred in the Cajun's mind, and from that his escape plan suddenly formed. Maybe it was a little cruel, but it couldn't cause any lasting damage. Henry might be intellectual and absent-minded to the point of asexuality, but it was still a huge, strong body that held the gentle mind. If Remy pretended that the entire purpose of hiding in the lab was a slutty seduction of the blue scientist, he would startle and horrify Henry enough to make his escape, and to ensure that Henry never mentioned it to anyone. It wasn't as if he hadn't flirted with the man - or the rest of the X-Men - before. It wouldn't be suspicious. Just mean. Remy shrugged off the cloak of conscience. A john was a john, a mark was a mark.
Remy poured himself down from the fan to the floor in one long, controlled movement. Henry was most startled, as he had been starting to think that Remy was going to hide up there until Henry left.
"'Allo, bête. I be waitin' for you."
"Indeed? I have been comfortably ensconced within the academic discourse of my e-mail for at least one-sixth of one hour. Why, precisely, did you delay?"
"De view? Dere be a lot to look at." His gaze slid down Henry's body, then back up, sticky fingers catching and dirtying the soft fur.Henry swallowed hard, feeling a searing blush spread across his face. Remy stood very still, with his head tipped to the side, eyes averted, like a shy adolescent.
"Remy, what do you- I mean, you-" Henry stuttered helplessly, totally disconcerted by the sudden withdrawal of the blatant sexuality. Remy did not rescue him from the broken sentences.
Henry tried to step backwards, putting a leather-palmed hand up between them for security, but instead bumped into his computer bench, and in that moment when Henry's arm was extended towards him, Remy slid sensuously along it and pressed up against the heavily muscled body, his thigh pressing momentarily but firmly against Henry's groin. Past Henry's attempt to keep him safely away, Remy's body writhed against him, strong, smooth fingers ruthlessly finding the sensitive points - atavistic scent glands? - around the base of his thick neck, sweat ground into fur rudely rumpled and disordered in a way no-one would dream of inflicting on his neat and tidy self.
Remy danced against Henry as if he was merging his body with the hot, damp fur and unyielding muscle beneath. Henry was completely paralysed, but Remy could feel his accelerating heartbeat and swelling dick and stepped up his performance, testing reactions and following up results. The science of lust, he thought in the part of his mind that was always detached from his sweat-soaked tricks, oddly disappointed that Henry was responding, that he couldn't see the falsity. A john is a john, everyone wants to be wanted, Henry would fall for Remy. The massive arms slowly curled around his body, tentatively prodding the reality of this sudden sexual attack on his integrity. Remy turned his face up to be kissed, snuggling into Henry's embrace, closing the trap.
"Remy." Henry's hoarse whisper was weak and his face distressed. That perfect mix of desire and horror, total loss of control, bored through the furry features, and Remy smirked, on the inside of his face where it would not show in his pretty flushed cheeks and romantically full, irresistibly parted lips.
"Henry," he sighed, eyes closed to display his long lashes, "Henry."
Their lips were together without any conscious act on Henry's part, Remy's tongue thrusting fearlessly through the sharp teeth to fill his carnivore's mouth with the sharp taste of young man and cigarette, stimulating and mingling saliva. Henry squeezed Remy close, his thoughts overwhelmed by the brute sensations with which Remy flooded him. His broad palms spread across Remy's back and stroked down the long spine, hard, learning everything about him, supporting him as the slender man went liquid with pleasure. Then it was Henry's turn to need support - provided by his trusty computer bench - as one of Remy's knowing hands slipped past the light elastic of his baggy shorts and a finger brushed against his anus, while his thigh renewed its stimulation of Henry's ever-larger penis. The hand shifted back to his buttock, rubbing under the curve, at the top of his thigh, some of the softest of his body fur before it shifted to thick pubic fur. Dreamily, Henry parted his legs slightly, and the
long finger touched him there again, pushing slightly, as Remy stimulated him like the most expert of prostitutes. A hand here, another there, draped across Henry's thigh to get at his groin with his right leg, lying oddly, keeping his left leg away, never looking at Henry's face. Anonymous. Perfect. False. Deliberate. An image of Remy snickering flicked across the inside of his eyelids, and angry heat curled through Henry's body, like the unfolding of a fleshy blossom. Something like a growl rattled in his chest.
Henry was purring as Remy completed his arousal. With a quick tug, he dropped those annoying black shorts to the ground, ready to unzip his own fly. He could easily fuck Henry over the bench without actually dropping his cargo pants or the precious disks. It looked like he was actually going to have to go that far before Henry died of embarrassment and Remy was safe. He would use a condom, though, that much was fair. He shifted his weight, tucked a leg behind Henry's and rolled the two of them around so that Henry faced the bench and Remy was behind him. Barely a moment of stimulation was missed as he switched hands to lean around the huge blue man to start jacking him off with one hand and finger-fucking his ass with the other.
It was a full second after Remy hit the far wall that he realised what the pain in his stomach was. Henry had twisted up from the bench and clubbed him in the belly with a massive forearm before he even registered that something was wrong. Not purring. Growling. Then Henry took two inhuman bounds across the room to haul him off the ground by his hair - Remy was taller, but Henry's arms were so long! - and slam him face first against the wall, once, twice, and again.
Remy was gasping for air, and Henry laughed deep in his chest to see him so fallen from casual sexual grace. He kept one hand buried in Remy's lank hair, and the other wrapped most of the way around the long neck, thumb on his spine as if about to snap it like a stray cat's. Pressing the limp, stunned man up against the wall, he raised one clawed foot and, popping his claws that inch further than anyone else knew they could go, shredded the grey t-shirt and severed the waistband of his cargo pants. The silk boxers beneath soon followed, tangling around his ankles and his sneakers. The Cajun grabbed for the cut-offs, but Henry yanked him upwards so that his body straightened and they were out of reach.
"No cigarettes now, Remy," boomed Henry's voice at both of them, "Bad boy."
"I wasn', wasn'..." Remy was stuttering in surprise and sudden fear.
"What were you attempting to do to me?"
Remy looked sideways, coquettishly, at the snarling face of the man
dangling him in midair.
"Like you so much, Henri, you so-"
"Liar." Henry dropped the twisting Remy to the floor, and, turning his back on him, loped to the remote control hanging by the door and pressed a button. The electronic locks clicked into place, the security shutters clunked down. The fans came on, their slow and menacing thumps speeding into a blurred whirr. Remy had leapt off the ground, dragged his ruined pants back up to his waist and dashed for a window, but he was much too slow. He turned to face his easy mark, his helpless john. Henry laughed and laughed.
"Go on. Run. I love a good hunt."
Remy stared at him, standing like some perfectly natural mix of human, gorilla and blueberry, huge dick jutting out from between his muscular thighs, and leapt over his head, going for the remote control. In another of those animalistic leaps, too natural to be called graceful, Henry grabbed Remy's slender ankle and cast him to the ground, flipping him face down. Then the crushing, living weight was on him, stroking and nipping, forcing him into compliance. Remy wriggled frantically for a moment, power rippling through his fingertips, ready to cause a neat, startling, saving explosion in the linoleum. Henry's dick jabbed at his thigh, and Remy shivered, letting the charge drain away and curving his body up to meet Henry's. He shouldn't have thought he could destroy someone like Henry
with the weak tools he had. No, far better that Henry takes him, takes him away from deceit and cruelty into simple, brutal physicality.
"Oh, yes, yes" Remy hissed, "Henri, Henri, Henri..."
Henry nipped at the back of Remy's bowed neck then grated his teeth across the prominent shoulder blade to the muscular meat of the arm, so much more flesh than the sample he had tasted in their kiss. He sunk his sharp teeth deep into the taut, bloody, giving meat and let the juice run into his mouth, luscious, so rich, Remy tasting as fresh and fleshy at he looked. The blood filled his senses, until he suddenly spat it all over the Cajun. How unsafe! He spent much of his working career avoiding contamination by body fluids, then he was foolish enough to bite straight into a promiscuous young man! Still pinning the moaning Remy to the floor, still moving body against body, he neatly snagged the cargo pants and ripped them off.
"Take dem, take dem away," Remy muttered deliriously, but Henry ignored him. He shredded the pockets, strewing cigarettes, playing cards, bits of wire and a few computer disks across the floor before he found what he was looking for: condoms.
"I don't trust you at all," he murmured, carefully opening a foil packet with the pads of his fingers, avoiding his claws. He pinched the tip and rolled the lubricated latex down his huge, purplish erection; there was a moment when he thought it wouldn't fit, but technology pulled through for him. He shoved Remy's head down further and the Cajun dragged his knees up under himself and got ready, his breathing shaky.
Henry plunged forward, with only momentary resistance, thrusting himself in and out of the tight ring, howling with pleasure like an ape, slapping himself against the curve of Remy's buttocks, heaving his weight forward and back, battering Remy's whole body with the force of his uninhibited fucking. At orgasm, he threw his head back and bellowed, inhuman and uncaring.
Remy lay under Henry's heavy, sleepy body.
"Dis between you an' me, non?" he whispered, gently.
"Yes, between us. Go away, now, little thief, begone. This is not your place."
Remy wriggled out, soaked with sweat and blood, to shiver in the chill air of the darkened room with the hissing fans. He kicked the disks under a bench, where he'd never see them again. Where Henry won't find them, whispered the cool, persistent part of his mind that he hated so much. Remy wrapped a labcoat around himself, pressed the button to open the door, and quietly slipped away.
Henry rolled over onto his back and stretched out. He yawned deeply, scratched irritably at his matted, grotty fur, and fell asleep, sprawled and confident.
Continuity: this is set some time before Legionquest/AoA, ie. well before Dark Beast, Onslaught or the whole Trial of Gambit mess.
Many thanks to: Snark, Dannell Lites, Mercutio, Mourning Glory and Beastfiend.
Red in Tooth and Claw
The man hiding in Henry's laboratory had obviously forgotten about scent, and, living in a house with Logan, that was unforgivable. Perhaps, though, knowing about Logan's amazing senses dulled the knowledge that the Canadian was not the only one whose senses were beyond the norm. It was either that, or the fact that long-term smokers can't even smell their own smoke, let alone more subtle aromas. Either way, Henry was left with a dilemma: why was Remy hiding perched on top of the ceiling fan? He'd been there for a while, long enough for the acrid odour of the ghosts of cigarettes past, sweetened with soap, perfume and anticipation, to take over every sterile corner of the white room. It was all very odd. Remy never even entered the medlab, let alone the laboratory. He hated them both, to the point that when he was injured in battle or training, Henry had to cart his supplies up to Remy's bedroom. Room Service, MD. Henry chuckled, deep in his chest, at his little joke, and went over to his main computer. He was intensely aware of Remy, silent above him, but the urge to see what the Cajun would do next was - barely - beating his need to simply ask what the man was doing there. If he wanted to be hidden, so be it, he was hidden, at least until curiosity could delay gratification no longer.
Remy breathed quietly and slowly, sitting comfortably on his heels. His long fingers absently explored the warps and gouges that were inevitably left when a large blue, furry man hung from a ceiling fan, no matter how strongly einforced. In the middle of summer, the lab was suffocatingly close, and Remy wondered how long Henry would resist turning on the fan and discovering that he was not alone. The thick blue fur was already damp with sweat at the back of his neck and down his sides, clinging closer to his solid body and forming little spikes and swirls. Remy fingered the three disks in the pocket of his baggy cargo pants and wondered how he was going to get away with this one. He wasn't the most trusted X-Man at the best of times, and being caught pilfering inforation - even
worse, Morlock medical records - was hardly going to help his case. He hadn't really had time to look at the screen as he downloaded, but the few glimpses of the casualty list he'd had gave him a grim, sour taste in his mouth. And he'd been too casual, too sure of Henry's blithe nature to plan the heist as thoroughly as he should have. Stupid. The doctor had never been hostile to Remy, but Remy was suddenly sure that he would protect his laboratory as fiercely as Remy loathed it. Remy had a very clear mental picture of Henry picking him up by the scruff of the neck, like a bear with an errant cub, and marching him off to the Professor. Right now, though, Henry looked like he was settling down at the computer. Remy shifted slightly, silently, just to keep his legs from going to sleep, and prepared to wait.
Henry was really becoming quite irritated. His fans were for cooling quite as much as for hanging from like an enormous blue fruit-bat. He was not entirely sure what climate his mutant evolution had designed him for - his fur was Arctic-thick, but he had less body-fat than an average human, let alone what was needed to survive true cold - but it certainly wasn't this seeping humidity. He extended one foot from his comfortable crouch, found the remote for the air conditioner and switched it on, although he really needed the big overhead fans to ruffle his fur and allow the cool air to penetrate to his skin where, like any human, he was sweating profusely.
Remy blinked in surprise, almost like Henry himself, then smiled slowly. When Henry had performed his balancing act to reach the remote control, he had given Remy a fine idea of the shape of the large, taut buttocks beneath the baggy black shorts. An idle lust stirred in the Cajun's mind, and from that his escape plan suddenly formed. Maybe it was a little cruel, but it couldn't cause any lasting damage. Henry might be intellectual and absent-minded to the point of asexuality, but it was still a huge, strong body that held the gentle mind. If Remy pretended that the entire purpose of hiding in the lab was a slutty seduction of the blue scientist, he would startle and horrify Henry enough to make his escape, and to ensure that Henry never mentioned it to anyone. It wasn't as if he hadn't flirted with the man - or the rest of the X-Men - before. It wouldn't be suspicious. Just mean. Remy shrugged off the cloak of conscience. A john was a john, a mark was a mark.
Remy poured himself down from the fan to the floor in one long, controlled movement. Henry was most startled, as he had been starting to think that Remy was going to hide up there until Henry left.
"'Allo, bête. I be waitin' for you."
"Indeed? I have been comfortably ensconced within the academic discourse of my e-mail for at least one-sixth of one hour. Why, precisely, did you delay?"
"De view? Dere be a lot to look at." His gaze slid down Henry's body, then back up, sticky fingers catching and dirtying the soft fur.Henry swallowed hard, feeling a searing blush spread across his face. Remy stood very still, with his head tipped to the side, eyes averted, like a shy adolescent.
"Remy, what do you- I mean, you-" Henry stuttered helplessly, totally disconcerted by the sudden withdrawal of the blatant sexuality. Remy did not rescue him from the broken sentences.
Henry tried to step backwards, putting a leather-palmed hand up between them for security, but instead bumped into his computer bench, and in that moment when Henry's arm was extended towards him, Remy slid sensuously along it and pressed up against the heavily muscled body, his thigh pressing momentarily but firmly against Henry's groin. Past Henry's attempt to keep him safely away, Remy's body writhed against him, strong, smooth fingers ruthlessly finding the sensitive points - atavistic scent glands? - around the base of his thick neck, sweat ground into fur rudely rumpled and disordered in a way no-one would dream of inflicting on his neat and tidy self.
Remy danced against Henry as if he was merging his body with the hot, damp fur and unyielding muscle beneath. Henry was completely paralysed, but Remy could feel his accelerating heartbeat and swelling dick and stepped up his performance, testing reactions and following up results. The science of lust, he thought in the part of his mind that was always detached from his sweat-soaked tricks, oddly disappointed that Henry was responding, that he couldn't see the falsity. A john is a john, everyone wants to be wanted, Henry would fall for Remy. The massive arms slowly curled around his body, tentatively prodding the reality of this sudden sexual attack on his integrity. Remy turned his face up to be kissed, snuggling into Henry's embrace, closing the trap.
"Remy." Henry's hoarse whisper was weak and his face distressed. That perfect mix of desire and horror, total loss of control, bored through the furry features, and Remy smirked, on the inside of his face where it would not show in his pretty flushed cheeks and romantically full, irresistibly parted lips.
"Henry," he sighed, eyes closed to display his long lashes, "Henry."
Their lips were together without any conscious act on Henry's part, Remy's tongue thrusting fearlessly through the sharp teeth to fill his carnivore's mouth with the sharp taste of young man and cigarette, stimulating and mingling saliva. Henry squeezed Remy close, his thoughts overwhelmed by the brute sensations with which Remy flooded him. His broad palms spread across Remy's back and stroked down the long spine, hard, learning everything about him, supporting him as the slender man went liquid with pleasure. Then it was Henry's turn to need support - provided by his trusty computer bench - as one of Remy's knowing hands slipped past the light elastic of his baggy shorts and a finger brushed against his anus, while his thigh renewed its stimulation of Henry's ever-larger penis. The hand shifted back to his buttock, rubbing under the curve, at the top of his thigh, some of the softest of his body fur before it shifted to thick pubic fur. Dreamily, Henry parted his legs slightly, and the
long finger touched him there again, pushing slightly, as Remy stimulated him like the most expert of prostitutes. A hand here, another there, draped across Henry's thigh to get at his groin with his right leg, lying oddly, keeping his left leg away, never looking at Henry's face. Anonymous. Perfect. False. Deliberate. An image of Remy snickering flicked across the inside of his eyelids, and angry heat curled through Henry's body, like the unfolding of a fleshy blossom. Something like a growl rattled in his chest.
Henry was purring as Remy completed his arousal. With a quick tug, he dropped those annoying black shorts to the ground, ready to unzip his own fly. He could easily fuck Henry over the bench without actually dropping his cargo pants or the precious disks. It looked like he was actually going to have to go that far before Henry died of embarrassment and Remy was safe. He would use a condom, though, that much was fair. He shifted his weight, tucked a leg behind Henry's and rolled the two of them around so that Henry faced the bench and Remy was behind him. Barely a moment of stimulation was missed as he switched hands to lean around the huge blue man to start jacking him off with one hand and finger-fucking his ass with the other.
It was a full second after Remy hit the far wall that he realised what the pain in his stomach was. Henry had twisted up from the bench and clubbed him in the belly with a massive forearm before he even registered that something was wrong. Not purring. Growling. Then Henry took two inhuman bounds across the room to haul him off the ground by his hair - Remy was taller, but Henry's arms were so long! - and slam him face first against the wall, once, twice, and again.
Remy was gasping for air, and Henry laughed deep in his chest to see him so fallen from casual sexual grace. He kept one hand buried in Remy's lank hair, and the other wrapped most of the way around the long neck, thumb on his spine as if about to snap it like a stray cat's. Pressing the limp, stunned man up against the wall, he raised one clawed foot and, popping his claws that inch further than anyone else knew they could go, shredded the grey t-shirt and severed the waistband of his cargo pants. The silk boxers beneath soon followed, tangling around his ankles and his sneakers. The Cajun grabbed for the cut-offs, but Henry yanked him upwards so that his body straightened and they were out of reach.
"No cigarettes now, Remy," boomed Henry's voice at both of them, "Bad boy."
"I wasn', wasn'..." Remy was stuttering in surprise and sudden fear.
"What were you attempting to do to me?"
Remy looked sideways, coquettishly, at the snarling face of the man
dangling him in midair.
"Like you so much, Henri, you so-"
"Liar." Henry dropped the twisting Remy to the floor, and, turning his back on him, loped to the remote control hanging by the door and pressed a button. The electronic locks clicked into place, the security shutters clunked down. The fans came on, their slow and menacing thumps speeding into a blurred whirr. Remy had leapt off the ground, dragged his ruined pants back up to his waist and dashed for a window, but he was much too slow. He turned to face his easy mark, his helpless john. Henry laughed and laughed.
"Go on. Run. I love a good hunt."
Remy stared at him, standing like some perfectly natural mix of human, gorilla and blueberry, huge dick jutting out from between his muscular thighs, and leapt over his head, going for the remote control. In another of those animalistic leaps, too natural to be called graceful, Henry grabbed Remy's slender ankle and cast him to the ground, flipping him face down. Then the crushing, living weight was on him, stroking and nipping, forcing him into compliance. Remy wriggled frantically for a moment, power rippling through his fingertips, ready to cause a neat, startling, saving explosion in the linoleum. Henry's dick jabbed at his thigh, and Remy shivered, letting the charge drain away and curving his body up to meet Henry's. He shouldn't have thought he could destroy someone like Henry
with the weak tools he had. No, far better that Henry takes him, takes him away from deceit and cruelty into simple, brutal physicality.
"Oh, yes, yes" Remy hissed, "Henri, Henri, Henri..."
Henry nipped at the back of Remy's bowed neck then grated his teeth across the prominent shoulder blade to the muscular meat of the arm, so much more flesh than the sample he had tasted in their kiss. He sunk his sharp teeth deep into the taut, bloody, giving meat and let the juice run into his mouth, luscious, so rich, Remy tasting as fresh and fleshy at he looked. The blood filled his senses, until he suddenly spat it all over the Cajun. How unsafe! He spent much of his working career avoiding contamination by body fluids, then he was foolish enough to bite straight into a promiscuous young man! Still pinning the moaning Remy to the floor, still moving body against body, he neatly snagged the cargo pants and ripped them off.
"Take dem, take dem away," Remy muttered deliriously, but Henry ignored him. He shredded the pockets, strewing cigarettes, playing cards, bits of wire and a few computer disks across the floor before he found what he was looking for: condoms.
"I don't trust you at all," he murmured, carefully opening a foil packet with the pads of his fingers, avoiding his claws. He pinched the tip and rolled the lubricated latex down his huge, purplish erection; there was a moment when he thought it wouldn't fit, but technology pulled through for him. He shoved Remy's head down further and the Cajun dragged his knees up under himself and got ready, his breathing shaky.
Henry plunged forward, with only momentary resistance, thrusting himself in and out of the tight ring, howling with pleasure like an ape, slapping himself against the curve of Remy's buttocks, heaving his weight forward and back, battering Remy's whole body with the force of his uninhibited fucking. At orgasm, he threw his head back and bellowed, inhuman and uncaring.
Remy lay under Henry's heavy, sleepy body.
"Dis between you an' me, non?" he whispered, gently.
"Yes, between us. Go away, now, little thief, begone. This is not your place."
Remy wriggled out, soaked with sweat and blood, to shiver in the chill air of the darkened room with the hissing fans. He kicked the disks under a bench, where he'd never see them again. Where Henry won't find them, whispered the cool, persistent part of his mind that he hated so much. Remy wrapped a labcoat around himself, pressed the button to open the door, and quietly slipped away.
Henry rolled over onto his back and stretched out. He yawned deeply, scratched irritably at his matted, grotty fur, and fell asleep, sprawled and confident.
