Candy Quackenbush can walk on water. (toitshour) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-09-29 12:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, candy quackenbush, remy lebeau (gambit) |
Who: Candy Quackenbush and Remy LeBeau.
What: Booze and nudity.
Where: Candy's apartment.
When: Wednesday night.
Rating: Adult situations! There's nudity and shagging and mentions of self-harm.
Status: Complete!
He’d planned to call her Tuesday, but flipping one car had proved a bigger pain in the ass than his boss in a bad mood. He hadn’t left the lot until about 4am that night, so he hadn’t wanted to call and wake her. It was Wednesday now, and Remy was dialing, ready to apologize and charm, just in case.
She hadn’t really expected him to call at all anyway, which was why she’d stolen a kiss. Candy was sprawled out on her bed which was conveniently on the floor, curled up and flipping through television channels. Her cell rang, which surprised her. “Hello?” Only a few people had the number. Probably a drunk dial wrong number.
She sounded all right. Remy tried to sound totally calm. “Is that M’am Candy? This is Remy. Somet’in came up last night; I was thinkin’ you’d get bent out of shape if I called at 4am. Was seein’ if you might like dat drink, n’ if you can find it in your kind heart to forgive me.”
“It is, and yeah, maybe a little. You can come over if you want, I’ve got a bottle I was about to crack open.” She’d have to rein in the drinking a little for that night, but she could probably make do with two or three glasses.
He hadn’t expected that. “Okay by me,” Remy said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Where you at? I can come to you, no trouble.” But he’d bring the bottle. He had promised to stand her a drink, after all. He could find some decent whisky.
“You know that rickety looking apartment building that’s three blocks up from the bar? That’s me, room 305.” Candy belatedly realized her place was kind of … sparse, but whatever. He wasn’t going to come over and redecorate.
“Two shakes,” Remy promised. “Maybe t’ree.” He hung up, grabbing his coat and heading for the door. He knew the building she’d talked about - he’d kept company with an escort who lived in 506 for a while, and thanked whatever that Cindy had moved back to Montana. But he stopped at the liquor store and bought a mid-sized bottle of Bushmills for her, with Maker’s Mark for him. He was more of a bourbon man, anyway.
Soon there was a knock at her front door and Candy hopped up to get it. She was still in her work clothes - jeans and a tank top - but her feet were bare and her leather jacket was off. When she got the door, her mismatched eyes lit up. “Hey. C’mon in.”
“Evenin’.” Remy handed her the Bushmills. “I did say I’d stand you a drink.” He smiled, coming inside, taking off his shoes before she could ask - some habits nuns beat into you did die hard. He didn’t comment on her place, but honestly, it was exactly like her - spartan and utilitarian, but there were some nice colorful bits. “Today you had off, oui? What you do with it?”
She smiled too, looking at the bottle fondly. It was sweet of him to remember his promise. “I did, yeah. I did errands, painted a little, watched TV. Usual day off stuff. You want yours neat again? I’ve got ice if you want it.” She moved to the cupboard, glad she had glasses. Usually she just drank from the bottle when she was alone.
“Ain’t no ice belongs in bourbon.” Remy looked shocked, but mostly to tease her. He was curious, though. “You paint?”
Candy cracked open the bottle of Maker’s Mark and poured him a double dose before doing the same for herself with the Bushmills. “Yeah. I’m no good, but I paint.” She gestured at a few canvases facing the wall. Whatever was finished faced the wall; she hoped it would keep her from painting the same things over and over. The trick usually worked.
“Aw, I bet you good. Only de ones who’re shit say they good.” Remy chuckled. He took a pull of the bourbon, closing his eyes and sighing. It wasn’t from New Orleans, obviously, but it did remind him of home.
“You can look if you want.” She sprawled out on her bed, sipping the whisky and sighing. “Mmph, that is way better than my usual. You’re a saint. And can I just say you completely scored a bunch of points for not making fun of my name? You don’t know how many times I’ve had to endure jokes about being sweet.” It was probably why she wasn’t.
Remy laughed. “Didn’t even think about it, chere.” There was no way he’d ever associate her with sweet. “Known a few ladies with your name in my time, and they were generous with time ‘n company. But none of them was sweet.”
“It’s because we hear that damn joke too much. And my middle name and last name aren’t much better either, so I’m just screwed all over.” She moved to sit by him, leaning back against her bed. “What’d you do at work today? Blow anything up?”
“Mm. Coupla cars. They went up real pretty.” Remy sat on the mattress, looking over at her. “Almost got shot through with plexiglass, though; some twat set off de fuse too soon.” He grinned. “Company ‘n Maker’s Mark lookin’ real welcome.”
That made her eyebrows go up. “Are you hurt? That’s … yeah, I hope that guy got fired.” If Candy messed up her job, someone got the wrong booze. Not a tragedy. It pissed her off, the carelessness.
“M’fine.” He’d have said so even if he wasn’t, but he’d just had a few scratches. He tilted his head up to show her a little scratch under his chin, and held up his right hand. “Ol’ Remy had worse.”
Her fingers went over the scratch, and she moved to kiss it better, her lips ghosting over it for a moment. “How much worse? Do you have crazy bad scars?” Crap. If they had sex, it would have to be in the dark; she didn’t want him to see hers right away.
“A few.” Remy nodded. “Did some stupid shit when I was younger.” A few months ago was technically younger. “Also climbed de roof of city jail when I was twelve; fell off, broke an arm, got a pretty one.” He moved his shirt collar aside to show a short and jagged scar. “Nun beat de snot outta me for it, but probably deserved that one, me.”
Pretty scars? And he was raised by nuns? Candy couldn’t help but laugh, turning around and lifting up her hair. “Lift my shirt up a little. The one just above my lower back is probably the worst, but that’s where most of mine are.” Trust was something she didn’t usually give freely. He could see the scars, but she wouldn’t tell him how she got them all right away.
He did lift her shirt just a little, but he didn’t touch her any more than he had to. Something made him handle her delicately, at least now. If she got his pants off he’d be a little rougher, but Remy figured that’d be fine with her. “Damn,” Remy said, looking down at it. “My worst probably be from a car accident. Last year.” He’d been too drunk to notice the girl driving was too drunk, and felt lucky to have escaped with a busted collarbone. He lifted his own shirt, showing her the puffed scar just under his arm.
Candy’s own scar was from when her dad had lost control the worst and hit her with a fireplace poker. The sharp end had left a scar and her cracked tailbone still ached when it rained. She smiled at his exclamation, but she turned to look at his scar, shaking her head. “That’s nothing, look at this one.” Tugging her shirt over her head, she showed him a scar in the perfect star diamond shape of her father’s class ring, just above her breast. “I didn’t want to go to the hospital so I just used super glue. It’s like a liquid bandage, right?” That was partly true; she hadn’t wanted to go and her father hadn’t wanted to take her. Telling her mother when she got back from work would’ve been too much of a hassle.
Remy tried to ignore the fact that she’d basically stripped. “Looks mean,” he said quietly. Something like that had to come from abuse; there wasn’t a thing in nature he could think of that would make an imprint like that. He didn’t comment much, though; it wasn’t his business. He smiled a little. “I used super glue before. More for paper cuts, though - when you work with li’l stuff like sand an’ gravel, it hurt like a bitch gettin’ up in there.”
She winced then flailed. “Augh, that makes me hurt just thinking about it.” She grabbed her drink and continued sipping, looking for the TV remote so he could put on whatever he wanted. “And I’m sure the stuff you use to make explosives doesn’t feel great in them either.”
Remy laughed. “Nah. I got to be careful of my hands, too. People lookin’ at them when I do magic.” He took another pull of Maker’s Mark, looking over at her. She still hadn’t put her shirt back on.
The remote was located and she pressed it into his hands. “That makes sense. Everyone wants to figure out how you do it. It helps that you’re cute - you don’t even have to do the distracting thing. you just are.”
That made him laugh. “When I had a shot at a career in magic and shows, some said de accent was distractin’. Others said it was charming. Either way I can’t shake it. Not sure I want to.” He was proud to be a swamp rat. And he’d go home, when he had the money.
“You shouldn’t let anyone change you, especially not when your accent’s hot. Let me guess, the people who said it was distracting were men.” She cocked her head to the side, laughing a little. “Stupid people.”
“Not all of ‘em.” Remy laughed. “Promoter man, he had a son who was easy on the eyes. He liked listenin’ to me talk.” He’d had one hell of a mouth on him, too. He belatedly said, “If you wonderin’, sometimes the boys strike my fancy, sometimes the girls. Mostly the girls. They got a little somethin’.” Namely, he’d always been a breast man.
Candy couldn’t help but lopsidedly grin. “Yeah, you and me both.” She shrugged. “When stuff’s pretty, it’s pretty.”
“Oh, really.” His radar had failed him, but he wasn’t going to say anything about it. “Great minds t’ink alike?” Remy held up his glass in an impromptu toast. He liked her. She was cute and smart as hell. He turned on the TV, risking putting an arm around her shoulders as he channel-surfed. He wasn’t subtle or flashy about putting his arm around her; he just did it, and she was free to shrug it off if she wanted.
She didn’t. It was rare that she trusted someone the way she trusted him. She might even shag him with the lights on. He’d done nothing to betray her trust, hadn’t commented negatively about the scar on her chest, and she figured when he saw the latticework of them on her back, he’d do the same. Also, he was warm.
They watched TV for a while - Remy found a kung fu movie that he figured she’d make him change if she didn’t like it. It wasn’t at all usual that he could spend time with a woman and not have to flatter and charm. He liked charming people, mind, but even Remy needed a breather. Though he was curious about something, and on a commercial break, he asked her. “You ever been down to my neck of de woods? Louisiana, I mean. Not Buena Park.”
She shook her head. “Nope. I’m from the Midwest, born and raised. I spent my whole life in Minnesota before I moved here. I’d never even been on vacation before.” She was curled up to his side, enjoying the movie. “Oooh, The Prophecy 3 is on next.” Candy’s own mother had always described her as morbid, and if her love of horror movies was any indication, Melissa had had a point.
Remy grinned. “Second’s better.” He liked horror movies himself. “I was curious. I never went further than the Quartier til homme brought me here. Things is different here.” New Orleans was different than everywhere else. There was sex and drugs, sure, but it all somehow seemed more innocent.
“There’s a hot chick in the third one, though. I know, I know, no more Jennifer Beals. Don’t tell me, you have a crush on her. Is there any guy in the world who doesn’t fap to Flashdance?” She shook her head, lifting her knees to her chest.
Remy laughed again. “I c’n tell you what I jerk off to, but it ain’t that.” He didn’t actually indulge very often in that; usually he just found a warm and willing body. “Too much mullet hair.” Honestly, when he did jerk off, Remy would have readily admitted, it was to women like Bond girls. Crazy adrenaline thrills he’d never get.
“You don’t seem the type to bother with your hands. Got to keep them pretty for magic, right?” She laughed, standing up and tossing her hair as she went into the kitchen to pour herself another drink. She’d cap herself at two for while she had company, but it did just taste good.
He couldn’t help but be amused; she’d tossed her hair. Remy stood and went after her, leaning against the doorjamb. “I like bein’ around people,” he said, shrugging one shoulder with a faint grin. Even if they stupid, I learn somethin’ from them. What not to do.” And if he got a good screw out of it, so much the better.
He would have said more, but then as she leaned upward to grab a glass, the light caught her back. Remy blinked faintly as he got a full view of the criss-crosses. It looked like someone had taken a cat o’nine tails to her.
She didn’t hear any gasping or coddling noises from behind her. Oh, he was getting laid. She came back with her drink and before taking a sip or sitting back down, she leaned over to kiss him. He deserved that.
Remy wasn’t complaining. He’d been surprised, but what was there for a relative stranger to say? Sorry some cochon beat you up? Even he knew that would make him sound like a bastard. Instead he leaned into her, resting one hand gently on her cheek. She kissed all nice, too; surprisingly confident.
He wasn’t bad either; surprisingly intimate. She settled down on her bed, tugging him down with her. She would’ve smiled if she weren’t busy. He was fun and funny and kind. Oh, and hot. She wanted to make out with him, and it was as simple as that.
Suited him. Remy got rid of his own shirt - had to fit the dress code, after all - and settled himself, leaning somewhat to his side so he wasn’t right on top of her. One thing he’d learned the hard way was that women tended to manhandle you to where they wanted you if it was going to be good.
Grinning, she leaned back and shook her head. “Showoff. How come you’re not in front of the cameras? You’re pretty enough.” She ran her fingers over his chest as if to illustrate her attraction to him.
“Ain’t nobody can understand me, ‘ccording to some of the boys I work with.” Remy raised an eyebrow, though it was clear he was amused and not upset. “What you mean, show off?”
“Please, it’s not like you’re speaking French. I understand you just fine.” She couldn’t help but grin wickedly when she was given an opening, though. Leaning forward, she nipped the junction of his neck and chest. “You’re gorgeous. You have to know that.”
Remy couldn’t resist, especially not after she nibbled on him. In French he murmured, “I can speak French if it turns you on, petite.” It’d either get her going or make her laugh, and both outcomes were fine by him. He gave it right back, pressing his lips to her neck.
She laughed before his mouth made her murmur in contentment. “I didn’t understand a word of that, but it was pretty. I took German.” Useless and not so much with the pretty sounds. “And I didn’t do that great in it, I only got a C.”
“Ain’t no loss.” Remy shrugged one shoulder, just barely nibbling on her collarbone. Wouldn’t do to be too rough with this one, but she couldn’t know it. “Germans sound like they garglin’ glass.”
“And they’re kind of unhappy about it,” she murmured huskily. Tugging on his hair to get his head to lift up, she snogged him firmly, wanting him to press things a little harder. She wasn’t fragile.
If she insisted. Remy leaned on her a little more, enjoying the taste of whisky and cherry lip balm. She wasn’t drunk, but just a little libidinous, and that tended to make him smile. Her voice had that low note that turned him on faster than most of the other things women did.
Smirking, Candy ran her fingernails roughly down Remy’s chest, nipping his lower lip. “I’m not made of glass, you know. Err on the side of what you want, and if I don’t like it, I’ll smack you.” That said, she lightly bit his neck, wondering how he’d react.
“Fair ‘nuff.” Remy grinned, but it trailed off with a sharp gasp when she bit. It pushed him a little more, and he reached down to run a hand over her breast, trying to ignore the scar. This was how this usually went, and he figured it was best, since she’d told him, to just act like she was any other one-night stand.
Candy sighed when he touched her. It was like his fingers were electric, sending tiny jolts down her skin. “Oh, fuck,” she murmured. I actually kinda dig him.
“Somethin’ wrong?” Remy stopped, though he didn’t move his hand. That had sounded kind of … displeased.
“Not with you, no. Well, yes, but … just keep - fuck.” She laughed, leaning back and moving to grab a cigarette. “Here I was hoping for a one off. You just had to go and be cute, didn’t you? Asshole.” Playfully she swatted at him, figuring he’d probably leave soon after this. She just should’ve kept her mouth shut.
That was new. Remy blinked, cocking his head. He sat back, brow furrowed. “Desole,” he said, watching her. “You want to see me again?” Or did she want him to go? It didn’t make sense.
“Yeah.” She lit her cigarette, taking a drag without looking at him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“Didn’t mean to what?” Remy was just full on confused now. “What you think happened?”
She sighed, offering him a smoke. “I want to see you again. After this. I mean, that kinda violates one night stand protocol, doesn’t it?”
“Last I checked, this was a date, not a one night stand.” It could have been either, but honestly, seeing her again wouldn’t upset him. She was pretty, and tough. He liked tough. Remy had never had much use for clingy women.
That made Candy’s cheeks go pink. “Seriously?” She laughed a little at herself, shaking her head. “Well, shit, then I’m sorry for stopping you and giving you a half-mast in those jeans. Probably cutting off the flow a bit.” She felt like she should apologize for being so awful at socialization, and hell, it’d make a good first impression. And she actually wanted to make a good first impression on him. So she stubbed out her smoke and moved to unzip his jeans.
Remy shrugged, smiling. “Your company ain’t exactly a hardship, chere.” He looked away. “I do date women more than once sometimes.” He wasn’t going to lie about the fact he’d had a lot of sex, but it didn’t always mean he never called a woman twice.
That made her chuckle. “Will wonders never cease, chivalry isn’t dead.” She nipped his hip as she tugged his jeans off, utterly unsurprised to see his lack of underthings. Never one for small talk or dawdling, she immediately set to using her tongue and mouth for activities less embarrassing than talking.
He wasn’t often surprised, but Remy definitely hadn’t expected that. Immediately her mouth got him responding, and he closed his eyes, one hand curling into her hair. “Ain’t got to,” he murmured. It wasn’t a favorite for most women, he knew. And even if they insisted, he always told them it wasn’t necessary - this time he actually didn’t want Candy to feel pressured or weird. Usually he just said it because women would blow him later for his ‘restraint’.
She looked up, moving off of him and grinning. “Trust me, I know. Now hush.” It inspired her to move a little faster, to show off a little more. He wasn’t the only one that had slept with a few people. She’d practiced some too.
“Yes’m.” Remy murmured, shutting up, Damn, she had a way. He closed his eyes and focused on her; he pulled his fingers a little deeper in her hair, feeling her move with his hand. She was doing this thing with her tongue, and it got him to murmur softly in French; she knew what she was doing, and it was hot as all hell.
Okay, so maybe she’d acted flippant at the French, but when he was aroused? His voice got all low and growly and it made her wish she wasn’t wearing her jeans. Or her bra. The panties could arse right off too. She couldn’t help but move a little faster, trying to get him a little closer.
He managed to stop her after a while, though. He couldn’t leave an impression if she got him off first. “Want you to join in de fun,” Remy drawled, looking down through hooded eyes. “Bien?”
Nodding, she leaned up and kissed him firmly, reaching her hands down to her waist to tug out of her jeans. The lights were still on, and she knew he’d see her other scars on her thighs. But she trusted him. It was scary.
Remy had condoms in his wallet, so he reached down for his pants and picked one up. He helped her out of her jeans, one hand resting on her arse.
She wiggled out of her panties as well, tearing the foil packet open and rolling the condom down onto him. Impishly she moved to lay on her back, letting him know that he could pick the position. It was more fun when she was guessing.
He figured they could start simple, especially if they were going to see each other again. Remy settled on top of her, nosing down between her breasts, trying to return fire, only because he wanted to leave an impression. He slipped a hand between her legs, sliding a finger up inside her. Women didn’t like it most of the time when you just dove right in.
Her eyes went wide. “You don’t - have to,” she murmured. But his fingers, not only pretty, were ridiculously talented. Arching against him, she couldn’t help but purr and move against his hand. Her low voice sounded like a purr.
Remy smirked, going for a kiss while he stroked her. “Prefer to,” he told her, quiet against her lips. “Good manners, oui?” He closed his eyes, his mouth running over her chin, then jaw, then down to the pointed vein in her neck. She was tuned in to everything he seemed to be doing, and he removed his hand, running it over her breast again. He eased inside her, if only because she was a slight person.
Candy was petite, standing 5’3” in her bare feet and probably a hundred pounds soaking wet. She hissed at his entrance, realizing he wasn’t kidding; he was hardly slight. He made her high school paramours look stunted by comparison. But Candy was no stranger to pain, and since it came with a chaser of fuck yes she coaxed him on, her mismatched eyes meeting his.
He’d noticed her mismatched eyes, but once Remy had figured out that she could see through both of them, he’d let it alone. It was oddly pretty; it marked her as someone unusual. He propped himself up on his arms, trying not to put all his weight on her right away. But even going a little slower than normal, she was tight and wanted him and merde this was nice. He breathed out hard, going back to grab her mouth with his.
Her legs wrapped around his waist and she kissed him gently, relishing in the bourbon taste of his tongue and lips. But he was going too slow and she rocked her hips harder, more needy, trying to get him to go a little faster. She kissed his neck, his ear, trying not to moan too loudly or wantonly. But he made it difficult, being so sweet and handsome and huge.
It took him a few minutes, but Remy got the message and sped up. She moaned pretty, and while he was usually quiet, he let a few noises out himself. He rested his full weight on her, feeling their hips moving together. “Fils’ putain,” he breathed, eyes closed, faint smile floating across his lips.
She didn’t understand what he said, but she liked that he was saying it. Hiking her leg up a bit higher, she tangled her fingers through his hair and kissed him harder, liking how warm he was, how he was actually making her sweat. She also liked that while she was around him, she didn’t think about any of the demons that usually haunted her. They left. She was blissfully, completely alone in her own head.
Remy shifted when she moved her leg up higher, pulling her hips up a little as he moved a little faster yet. He liked that she kissed him and went for it hard; tugging her hair a little as he felt his breath start to hitch. If he could hold on just a little longer, he’d feel a little more satisfied with himself.
Candy didn’t really care, she lost it as soon as he started to move faster. She’d needed it too; in the moments after orgasm she felt her face flush and a lazy, contented smile come over her face. Yeah, she wanted to see him again, even more than she had before.
He saw her face and smiled before losing control himself. Remy came quietly, his face buried in her neck. He stayed that way for a minute or two, just trying to find his breath again.
Smiling, her fingers moved over his back, gently stroking along his spine. “That was … thank you.” She laughed at her own inarticulateness, turning her head to kiss his earlobe.
Remy smiled, closing his eyes. He’d definitely call her again, though he’d wait a few days, just to be sure. “Mm. Was nice.” He sighed, settling on his side, a hand resting on her hip.