Wings to Fly, Eyes that Burn

Remy's fingers coasted along a sweaty tattooed shoulder, manipulating the lines with the pressure of his fingertips. Marshall lazily rolled his head to the side, watching the journey of the hand, tracing the inked lines and shapes. He'd been feeling good, satisfied. Remy fucked like a freight train and they had both cum. The tattoo on his right arm was a drawing of his daughter. It used to make him proud, proof that he wasn't a total fuck up; that he had helped to create something beautiful, someone smart and perfect. Looking at it now, it only brought back painful memories

"Who is dis?"

"S'my lil' girl," He said softly. "When she was younger."

"De tat should be retouched, de lines is fadein'." His thumb traced along the girl's face. "How old is da petite now?"

Marshall paused as he remembered large blue eyes full of tears and a wavering voice trying to explain things to her daddy that she hardly understood herself. That was when she was still innocent, before she changed. He shook his head slightly not wanting to remember anymore. "Sixteen."

He felt breath on his skin as Remy mouthed the names, his fingers tracing along the big cursive letters as he went. "Bonnie an' Clyde?" He asked out loud.

"It's sorta a joke. Bonnie Jade an' Clyde Mathers... me an' my daughter. Partners in crime." He swallowed hard and turned his gaze away from the glowing red eyes that bore into him with questions. He didn't want to talk about it anymore. It was a huge fucking sore spot and he wished Remy would just drop it.

"Da petite's a cute lil t'ing. Y' named y' her Jade?" Remy asked.

"Hailie." He was staring at a spot on the wall. "Hailie Jade." The happy warmth he had been feeling earlier was quickly fading with the change in subject.

Remy slid his hand up Marshall's shoulder, over his neck and tapped his thumb against his chin. "I used t' be an empath. I mean I am, if it weren't fore dem force fields dey got 'ere." His thumb rubbed down Marshall's cheekbone and over the bridge of his nose. \icalically dat means dat I can feel what od'er people 'round me is feel'in. When I was a kid on da streets I couldn't handle it, I woulda given anyt'ing to just be able t' turn it off." The thumb slid back across Marshall's cheek and traced the shell of his ear, carefully fingering the silver loop there. "Den I learned to control it, an' now, now dat I don' have it no more, it feels like a part o' me is missin'." His hand formed a lose fist and his knuckles stroked down his neck firmly, the touch causing Marshall to shiver slightly and close his eyes. "I don' know why, but y' have de biggest feelin's o' anyone. I c'n almost always tell what y' feelin' Marshall. Mostly all I ever get off y' is fear, pain an' anger."

Remy put his lips close to Marshalls ear, tickling him with his breath as he said; "Bometometimes, like right now, I c'n feel y' gettin' turned on." He paused, pulling his face away. Marshall opened his eyes as Remyped ped his chin and turned his head towards him. Their eyes remained locked as Remy spoke. "When y' talk about y' lil' chile it like y' heart 'bout t' bust open jus' from t'inkin 'bout her. Remy know what pain is, he knows how to wrap it up in lust an' help y' forget 'bout it for a lil' while."

Marshall nodded and wrapped his frs ars around the hand holding his chin. His blue eyes were large and sad as he whispered; "For a little while, just a little while."

Remy pressed his lips full against Marshall's. The kiss, starting out sweet and gentle. Marshall opened his mouth and slid his tongue wetly into Remy's mouth. The two continued kissing for several more minutes. Remy's lips fanned down Marshall's neck and bitingly nipped at the pale flesh there, marking him.

"Y' mine boy." He whispered darkly against sweaty shivering flesh. Marshall just nodded and twisted himself against the other man, neck craning and fingers clawing hungrily through auburn hair. "Say it, tell m' who y' belong t'."

"You, I fuckin' belong to Remy LeBeau."

"Dat's right."