more redhead sex oh my lord

[escritoireazul]

saturniia just broke me.

She suggested Bill/Gambit/Oz for further red-hair sex.

Um.

Uh.

Erm.

Yes. Please?

I am seeing a guitar and dragonhide leather and a game of poker and smoke everywhere. Jackets scattered haphazard, shirts, trousers, boots. Lots of boots, black leather boots, brown leather, thick fingers, full lips, that slow grin (three different, but oh so slow and sexy).

Okay. This has to be written. A lot.

I need an icon. Or, you know, 100. Woah.

Comments

Re: This will be for crossovers100, so I'll have to restrospectively find the right theme word/title

[karenhealey.livejournal.com]

Gambit stubs out his cigarette. "And you," he says, pointing, "Are Oz, of Dingoes Ate My Baby."

"No autographs," Oz says, and raises.

"A friend of mine would surely appreciate it," Gambit says, studying him. "Says she's your biggest fan. You can't be persuaded?"

"Maybe," Oz concedes, his lips quirking.

"You have a lot of lady friends?" Bill asks.

Gambit smiles. "I'm a friendly man."

"And you?" Oz asks.

"Bill," Bill says, secure in the knowledge that his name appears on no records anywhere outside the world these two can't reach. Oz is a werewolf, but he's no wizard. Just an unlucky Muggle.

"What tried to eat your face, Bill?" Gambit asks, leaning back and sipping at his whiskey.

Bill hardly ever thinks about the scars anymore. Fleur didn't care, so he learned not to. And even after Fleur died, he continued in the habit of not caring. Now, suddenly aware of them again, he touches the rigid lumps along his cheekbone. Oz is looking at him.

"A mad dog," he says.

"Only one thing to do with a mad dog," Gambit suggests.

"I did it," Bill says, and remembers, as he frequently does, the twisted, broken hulk of Fenrir Greyback, sprawled at his feet.

Oz doesn't flinch. "Call," he says.

Gambit shows his hand. Three Queens.

Bill spreads his three kings.

Oz looks at them, and then flips his cards over.

Three aces.

"I didn't cheat," Oz says.

"No," Gambit agrees, standing up and picking up the bottle. "I did. Didn't you boys wonder why I didn't win a single hand?"

"You weren't playing for money," Bill says. The scents of leather and candle smoke and whiskey are a musky haze. The rising moon is tugging at his blood. Across the table, Oz's lips are quirking.

"Got plenty of money," Gambit says. "But a man can never have too many friends."

Bill has a room upstairs. It has a big, wrought-iron bed. He takes the bottle from Gambit; takes a slug without wiping the rim.

Then he holds out the bottle to Oz. Oz watches him for a long moment, before he wraps his lips around the bottle.

Bill shrugs into his jacket. "Right, then," he says. "Time to cash out."