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

Um. A snippet :D

[velvetandlace.livejournal.com]

The room was littered with smoke and the light was down to pin-pricks, now, three different slouched forms over chairs, heads bent close to the table.

Cards were sweaty in hands; Remy had his feet, ankles crossed, on the table, and Oz could smell the leather from his own place, short-sleeved , a beaded wrist flicking as he tossed in his bet. He wasn't speaking much, but that was to be expected; Bill carried the conversation and Remy supplemented, the glow behind his eyes lighting through his arm when he tried to make a point.

It didn't seem strange; everyone was different here. Psimitars and wands and the faint edges of a primal snarl were par for the course. The beaten leather of Bill's jacket (looked like hide) scraped soft over the table as his money landed atop Oz's, looking over at him with a drawling smile, matched with his low, "Remy, are you in?"

"Such an offer I cannot refuse, mon ami," came his assured reply, and with a glinting flash, his bet landed atop the other two.

Oz ran a hand through his hair and raised an eyebrow, laying a card down in front of him. The game was ready to begin.

[karenhealey.livejournal.com]

POKER.

Yes.

One moment, please.

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

[karenhealey.livejournal.com]

Werewolf, Bill thinks, and rakes in the pot.

The man across the table says nothing. But the moon is rising, and nearly full, and Bill feels his hackles rise.

Werewolf, he thinks again, cautiously reaching out through the paths of the moon that make them nearly brothers. The man's lips quirk. The dip of his head could be a nod.

"So, what brings you boys to the drowned city?" the third man asks, shuffling the cards and eyeing Bill's winnings. He spreads his hands when neither man answers. "Best to talk, mon amis! Game goes better with a little conversation."

"I'm looking for someone," Bill says shortly.

"Aren't we all," the Cajun sighs, mocking.

"I'm going to play," the other man says quietly. He pats the guitar beside him.

Bill thinks this is useless. What this city needs now is workers, not entertainers. He's been doing what he can, while he searches for his man - clearing rubble, burning bodies, reinforcing levees. But even in a near-deserted city, it's hard to find the privacy to use your wand.

"The city, she needs her music now," the Cajun says, and deals, his lithe fingers a blur in the candlelight.

"And why are you here?" Bill asks, eyeing his hand. Three kings. He's not even cheating.

"I'm looking for a lady," the Cajun says, and Bill tries not to be disappointed. Or at least visibly so. He doesn't think the man misses much, though, and he knows the quiet man can hear his heartbeat, smell his sweat.

"A friend of mine," the Cajun says, casually raising. Bill raises after him. "She was trying to do something about the storm before it hit." He shakes his head. "Brave lady. But Mother Nature's a bitch."

Bill blinks at that. Do something about the storm? No witch would try it, not alone. He thinks, "Hermione?", but he knows she was in London then, because that's where his orders came from. And surely even *she*... no. Weatherwork's too chancy. And she wouldn't know this man.

"I know you," the other man says, staring at the Cajun. "From TV."

The Cajun grins. "Gambit," he says, inclining his head. "World famous mutant."

"You're one of the X-men," Bill says, after a moment, tossing another chip in the pot. He doesn't watch TV. But he does read the Ministry reports Hermione sends him, and her own cramped notations in the borders. And she has a lot of things to say about mutants. She hasn't said that any of them have the power to be uncommonly attractive. Maybe he should investigate it for her.

"Non, mon ami, I'm freelance," Gambit says easily. "But they ask for me now and then."

Bill nods. He can empathise with that.

[saturniia.livejournal.com]

*is excited*

Wow, that's good. That's... really good.

I'm no good at sex scenes, but I've got a few snippets of suspicious!Oz dialogue running around my head, with the corresponding sympathetic!Oz snippets chasing after.

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

[escritoireazul.livejournal.com]

Werewolf, Bill thinks, and rakes in the pot.

The man across the table says nothing. But the moon is rising, and nearly full, and Bill feels his hackles rise.

Werewolf, he thinks again, cautiously reaching out through the paths of the moon that make them nearly brothers. The man's lips quirk. The dip of his head could be a nod.

Oh. Oh, oh, oh. I'm very nearly speechless already with this story, and this, the part-werewolf meets full werewolf and recognizes and the almost full moon and oh. It's fabulous, and I really want to explore werewolf culture, both in HP in general and between them. It's wonderful.

I really enjoy Gambit as the heart of the conversation, the engine of it, pushing. And Oz came to play -- oh, Oz, I love you.

"And why are you here?" Bill asks, eyeing his hand. Three kings. He's not even cheating.

Ha! He doesn't have to cheat, and Gambit would know if he did. Gambit's cheating, isn't he? Oh, you slick, sly man, Gambit.

I really like that Storm tried to do something, and that she's now missing, because that kind of situation, that kind of power, that could kill. Injure at least. Poor Storm, I worry. (And am assuming Storm, here, heh.)

I really like how Bill parallels Storm and Hermione.

She hasn't said that any of them have the power to be uncommonly attractive. Maybe he should investigate it for her.

Yes, Bill, investigate it for her! You'll have fun!

Great wording there, too, great voice.

"Non, mon ami, I'm freelance," Gambit says easily. "But they ask for me now and then."

Bill nods. He can empathise with that.

Nice. I can't even really put my finger on why it's so nice, but it is. I think, maybe, it's the comparison between them, the slight similarities. Bill's a little like Oz. Bill's a little like Gambit. Bill's the ninety degree angle of this trio. Nice.

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

[escritoireazul.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.

EEEEEE. Oz is recognized! Oz gives in way too fast with Gambit! Oz is SO CUTE. Oh, Oz, yay for you.

I really want to know which of his friends calls herself Oz's biggest fan (or the band's, you know what I mean).

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

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

Pure, perfect Gambit right there.

Oz is a werewolf, but he's no wizard. Just an unlucky Muggle.

Oh Bill, you snob you. Hee.

I really like how Bill forgets about his scars, and how Fleur didn't care. (And that she's dead. The only time I've ever liked her character was when she didn't leave Bill after his attack.)

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

Oh, Bill, you're fantastic!

I've been meaning to write some gen werewolf centered on Fenrir Greyback, and now I am even more inspired to do so.

"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?"

I KNEW IT!

"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."

Am just babbling right now, unable to make my words form coherent phrases. Just oh, oh, oh. Rising moon, quirking lips--oh those lips.

Oh.

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."

*wibble*

Fabulous. Karen, this is as wonderful and amazing as always and oh. Just wow. Thank you. THANK YOU.

I wish I could form better thoughts, because this is a terrific story, and filled with so many details, and so layered, but I just can't. I just have nothing but squee and awe and scattered words.

THANK YOU.