Southern Comfort


by MEL

Fandom: DC/Marvel Crossover
Rating: Slashy!
Archive: With permission only, please.
Feedback: Is always appreciated.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the DC or Marvel characters and aren't making any money off them.
Notes: Okay, this started off as a sillyfic, but it sort of mutated into this. Hopefully, folks will enjoy it anyway. - xoxo MEL

* * * * * * * * * *

It was his own fault. New Orleans was not his usual stomping ground. He'd come down for Mardi Gras, to soak up the spectacle of the parades and lose himself in the drunken crowds. It was supposed to be a vacation, a break from Bludhaven and his fractured personal life. He was having a good time. A really good time.

Naturally, it couldn't last.

He'd spotted her out of the corner of his eye. It was pure luck. For a fleeting moment, he thought of letting her go. He tried to convince himself he was mistaken, that his eyes had played a trick on him.

He wasn't able to succeed. Ruefully, he went back to his hotel and changed into his working clothes.

A few moments later, Nightwing was moving over the Big Easy's rooftops, eyes alert for signs of Catwoman's progress.* * * * *

The house was old and ramshackle, ivy-covered and dark. It sat behind a wrought iron fence, surrounded by oak trees festooned with Spanish moss. The house looked abandoned to Nightwing, but there must have been something valuable inside to have attracted Catwoman's attention. The femme feline was creeping across the shingled roof at a snail's pace, moving with sinuous grace. Nightwing watched, impressed with her agility and stealth despite himself.

She reached the edge of the roof and extended a hand over the ledge. In the moonlight, Nightwing saw the razor-like claws extend from Catwoman's glove. Her hand moved toward a darkened window.

There was the sound of breaking glass. Nightwing heard a muffled curse erupt from Catwoman. A gauntleted hand erupted from the broken wind, wrapped tight around Catwoman's wrist and yanked her off the roof. She twisted in midair. For a moment, Nightwing caught a glimpse of her face in the pale moonlight. It was twisted into feral rage or pain. He wasn't sure which. Then she was falling through the air, past the moss-covered trees and out of Nightwing's line of sight.

Lights erupted in the house. Nightwing rose to his feet, peering toward the yard. A shadow flitted over the gate, and Catwoman was running down the street, clutching her wrist to her chest as she went. Shaking his head Nightwing prepared to go after the fleeing woman, but at that moment something smashed into the back of his head, driving him down into darkness.* * * * *

He woke up some time later with an aching head and a chilly backside. From somewhere nearby he could hear raised voices, bellowing at each other in Creole French. Nightwing examined his situation, and realized he was in something of a predicament.

He seemed to be in a small stone cell. His arms were bound to the wall, above his head by solid metal chains. Try as he might, he could not move his arms. Indeed, he could not feel them at all. They were numb from lack of circulation. That meant he had been here, like this, for some time. His legs were likewise bound to the floor by steel manacles, fastened securely around his ankles.

Nightwing frowned. He was chained to a stone wall, his head ached, his back was sore, his butt was cold and, most disturbing of all, he had been stripped naked. New Orleans in February was cold and Nightwing could see his breath each time he exhaled. He wished that whoever had captured him would just come inside and start the torture or whatever. At least that way, he would probably have something other than his chilly testicles to think about.

He did not have to wait long. The argument nearby ended abruptly and Nightwing heard someone approaching. The cell door swung open and his captor walked in.

The man paused on the threshold of the cell for a moment. He was tall and slim with a mane of chestnut hair that half fell over his face. The man lifted a hand and brushed aside his bangs with a practiced, graceful motion. His face was lean and pale. Scarlet eyes peered at the helpless Nightwing. A smile pulled at the corner of the man's mouth.

He stepped into the room, the long leather duster he wore swaying with each step. The door shut behind him and Nightwing heard the soft click of locks.

The man stepped close to Nightwing, scarlet eyes moving admiringly over the naked hero's bound form. Nightwing saw the fellow's lips twitch, as if he were fighting the impulse to smile.

"How do you feel?" The man asked, his words touched by a faint Cajun accent.

"Chilly," said Nightwing. He glanced purposefully at the manacles. "And if this is your idea of southern hospitality I'll head back north."

The man chuckled, a liquid sound, and dropped to one knee. He tilted his head to one side and studied Nightwing's face. "I got to ask you some questions."

Nightwing sighed, feigning boredom. "If you must."

His captor grinned and touched his chest. "I'm Gambit by the way." His eyes flitted to Nightwing's bare chest and lower before returning to his face. "But my friends call me Remy." He tilted his head to one side again, smiling faintly. "And you are?"

"Nightwing. Excuse me for not offering to shake hands."

"No offense taken," said the scarlet-eyed man, still smiling. "Whatchu doin crawlin over the rooftops, Night? You workin with the Cat-lady?"

"No," said Nightwing. "I was following her."

"Why?" Asked Gambit.

"She's a wanted criminal."

Gambit arched a dark eyebrow. "You a hero, mon ami? Big time crimefighter? Like Spiderman?"

"Something like that," said Nightwing.

"Hmm. Intrestin."

Gambit had moved closer to Nightwing by inches. He was close enough for Nightwing to smell him with each breath and the man smelt like leather and sweat and cologne.

He reached out and touched Nightwing's face. Nightwing's expression hardened and he fought the urge to move his head. Never show them weakness, Batman had told him. Remember, criminals are a cowardly, superstitious lot.

"What happened to Catwoman?"

Gambit shrugged and traced Nightwing's cheek and jaw. "She ran off. Silly girl."

"What was she here for?" Nightwing asked, working hard to maintain his composure. Gambit's fingertips were moving lower, over his throat and down his breastbone.

Fingers settled on a stiff nipple, stroked it. "Better you don't know that, cher," said Gambit.

"I hate a mystery," said Nightwing through clenched teeth. Gambit was stroking his chest, his thumb and forefinger lazily teasing a nipple made supersensitive by the chilly air.

"Really?" Gambit grinned, his hand sliding down to Nightwing's belly. His fingertips circled the bound man's navel. "Then what you like, masked man? Hmm?"

"What are you going to do with me? Can I ask that?" Nightwing asked, his stomach fluttering at Gambit's teasing touch.

"Don't worry, cher. We gonna let you go." Gambit's hand left Nightwing's stomach, slid lower toward stirring flesh. "Eventually." His fingertips grazed the hardening shaft, toyed with the dark thatch of pubic hair.

Nightwing gasped. "What are you doing?"

Gambit grinned. "Makin up for the lack a hospitality," said the Cajun.

"That's not nesca...aaaahhhh!"

The sound burst from Nightwing as Gambit suddenly leaned over him and slid his tongue over the head of his erection.

The Cajun looked up at the heaving Nightwing through a veil of chestnut bangs. "You like that, cher?" Scarlet eyes flitted to the flesh rising higher in his hand. "I like this."

Nightwing closed his eyes and shuddered as Gambit bent back over him, slid the head of his penis between velvet-soft lips and nursed at it. His tongue flicked over the head, sliding across the sensitive glans, finding all of Nightwing's most sensitive spots.

Gambit knelt between Nightwing's legs. His hands gripped Nightwing's thighs, feeling his muscles quiver and bunch as Gambit worshiped his cock. Moving his head up and down, Gambit teased the crown alone at first, then slowly began taking more of the cock into his mouth. Nightwing could only gasp and squirm.

Gambit glanced up at him, smiling around the shaft in his mouth. He slid his mouth up it slowly, maddeningly, until the head was free of his lips. His tongue slithered over his lips, smearing pearly precum over them.

"You want Gambit to stop, cher? You do, you speak now."

Nightwing opened his eyes and stared at Gambit. Crimson eyes met his, and Nightwing studied them. Studied the face of the man in front of him. He made a decision.

"I'm your guest, sir. It would be rude of me to refuse you."

Gambit grinned and nodded. "Yes, it would."

He lowered his head back to the silky, hard flesh and began to work it again. Nightwing groaned and flexed his hips, trying to move more of himself into that beautiful, amazing mouth. He lay his head back against the cold stone wall and watched the Cajun work. Gambit bobbed his head, slurping and sucking, licking and using just enough teeth to tantalize. Then, he lowered his head completely, burying his nose in Nightwing's pubic hair and impaling himself on his captive's cock. His throat muscles flexed around the shaft, prompting guttural grunts of pleasure from Nightwing and incoherent words of encouragement.

Gambit's hands began to roam Nightwing's body. Belly. Chest. Arms. Back. His fingers slid slowly down Nightwing's spine, pausing at the top of his buttocks. Nightwing knew what Gambit wanted. He shifted his hips, allowing the Cajun's hands to slide under him. Cunning fingers found his anus, teased the pursed rosebud opening. Nightwing's response was a shudder and a hoarse warning.

"I'm close . . . "

Gambit smiled and flexed his throat muscles, moving back, letting the slick cock bob in the cavern of his mouth. Gently, he brought his teeth to the responsive flesh, letting them scrape the length of the shaft. Nightwing tensed up, drew a deep shuddering breath at the sensation.

Gambit reached the crown, let his tongue lap at the sensitive sweet spot on the underside of the shaft. A low wail erupted from Nightwing and his cock erupted, twitching and pulsing, filling Gambit's mouth with jets of white semen. The Cajun locked his lips around the pulsing shaft, swallowing the bittersweet offering as quickly as Nightwing produced it.

When it was over, Nightwing let his head drop forward, panting. His breath erupted in jets, and despite the coolness of the cell, his body was covered in a fine sheet of sweat.

Gambit sat up between his thighs and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He grinned at Nightwing and moved close to him.

"Cher, you one hot man."

Lips descended on Nightwing's cheek, planting a rose-petal soft kiss there.

"Funny," gasped Nightwing. "I was thinking the same thing about you."

Gambit chuckled and let his hands slide up Nightwing's chest, to cup his face. "Flattery will get you everywhere, cher."

Another kiss, not so soft this time, on the lips. And there was heat behind it. Then Gambit stood and reached into the pocket of his duster. He pulled out a key and unlocked the manacles binding Nightwing's wrists, lowering them gently to the ground.

Nightwing gasped in discomfort as the blood began to rush back into his lowered arms. Gambit bent and undid the manacles binding Nightwing's ankles.

"Gambit got to go now, cher, but yo stuff is outside de door." He stepped back, pocketing the key. "You gon be aright?"

Nightwing nodded, grimacing at the pins and needles feeling in his arms and legs. Still, he looked up at Gambit.

"What about you?"

"Gambit is always fine, cher."

"When I get the feeling back in my arms and legs, I wouldn't mind finishing this."

Gambit grinned. "Next time, cher," he said, then spun and walked out the door. It remained open behind him.

After a little while Nightwing managed to climb to his feet. He staggered out the cell and, true to Gambit's word, found his uniform and equipment waiting on a chair. There was a small white card hidden in the folds of his costume. On the card was a telephone number and E-mail address. Grinning, Nightwing dressed and pocketed the card for future reference, wondering when, or if, he'd ever see the Cajun again.



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