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Every time, they'd come back to it. It always started with a godforsaken pub in the depths of various cities. An unexpected meeting, a verbal altercation, a drink and eventually a morning in the battered apartment of one of them. Such events have become an unpleasant but familiar routine.
This time, the break between chance encounters was long. Gambit had forgotten how much irritation he felt while this red, chatty idiot was milling around him. Not a second of silence.
The mercenary already has time to tell the minimal differences between a llama and an alpaca, and the Cajun pours himself another glass of alcohol. It had once been amusing, but over time it had begun to get annoying. Such infantile and irresponsible behavior was infuriating and frustrating. Every day quarrels, disappearance for days or even weeks, not wanting to go to any contact. This relationship wasn't meant to last. Just a fling to brighten up the gray of everyday life.
Gambit rested his head against the bar and turned to Deadpool, looking him over. The man himself was tipsy, his sloppy movements and raised mask giving him away. The mangled skin underneath was very familiar.
Desire to touch and feel every hollow, every scar. Of course to press against it, causing pain. And what about those dry lips, contact with which made it feel like kissing a dead man. A terrible urge to bite them bloody, to make Wade Wilson whimper not so much from the discomfort as from the surprise.
Thoughts like that make his muscles tense and his breathing stiffen. He hates the man across from him. Hates him to the point of shivering. And it was driving him crazy.
Quickly averting his gaze, Gambit tosses his head back and stretches. Pretending he hadn't stared at Wade's face in minutes. Another sip for courage. Both don't notice the dozens of other shots rushing past them in time. The Cajun's accent is starting to slip, but Deadpool is trying to understand every insult thrown at him with a special passion.
Oh, that was "asshole"! And that's "moron" isn't it? You Cajuns are so funny! The mercenary's head would have been nailed to the wall with a bo staff long ago if that ass couldn't regenerate. Although, maybe Gambit was just justifying the incomprehensible desire to continue the meeting.
One more shot after another and consciousness became intermittent. Everything was too blurry to remember much. Wade's face again, the warmth on his lips, the dark streets, someone's shoulder at his side, and finally the shabby walls of one another apartment.
Remy only regains some sanity when he feels the hot touch of Wade's hands and lips. They prowl over his body, leaving traces of disgust mixed with delight. It's nauseating. No, really nauseous-
It was impossible to breathe. Even when practically undressed, it was insanely stuffy, the walls of the small room squeezing and not giving any fresh air.
Saddling the mercenary, Gambit clutches his face with his hands and presses his forehead against Pool's. He wants to see his eyes, but Wade has never been a fan of flashing his face. Cajun, on the other hand, wanted to see it. He's always wanted more of it.
"Face. Show me your face, cher-" his breathing is intermittent and heavy, making it hard to speak clearly.
The abrupt request seemed to confuse Wade. He didn't want to. But the look in his ex's eyes was becoming unbearable, and the pressure made it impossible to think straight.
"Oh, Remy, I don't think that-" before he can finish speaking, his face is squeezed tighter. Fingernails digging into his skin. Gambit scowls and now looks insanely creepy. Those demonic eyes... Scary.
"Show me your fucking face." In fact, it was even arousing. Wade liked orders, but only when they came from Remy.
He reaches for the mask and pulls it off.
Before he could utter a word, the insatiable Cajun sank lips into his. Ah, yes, the French kiss, your signature. His hands reach down and body is so hot that the occasional touch on his skin sends shivers down spine. A truly diabolical creature.
He doesn't allow for much thought. Already he's letting Wade in and moaning, arching his back like a bitch. He's always loved touch, especially close contact, so, never wasting an opportunity to snuggle up and run his claws down his partner's back.
The chatty mercenary whined painfully every time knowing he would enjoy it. Remy's smile looked especially maniacal in these moments. Wade was getting turned on by it. They were the ultimate psychos and it was hot as hell for both of them.
An inexplicable addiction that had developed over the years. That made the men go back to wanting each other so badly every time. They didn't love each other.
But once again, waking up in the apartment, always lingering in bed for stupid conversations, maybe have some breakfast, kiss in forehead.
And when one of them left the apartment, a quiet but firm "Don't forget, I hate you, cher." was uttered.