Fic: a fine romance
title: a fine romance
fandom: x-men au
pairing: remy/logan (gambit/wolverine)
summary: the cabin looks the exact same, just as the man behind the patio railing looks the exact same. not many things have changed, but remy has. remy has changed, for the better.
warnings: man on man sexing, language
disclaimer: x-men and anything affiliated with it belong to marvel (which now belongs to Disney, the bastards) and stan lee. i own nothing below. remy’s past is a mish-mash of the movies and the comics, with a little extra thrown in.
word count: 3800 ~
author’s notes: this was written for lmx_v3point3, who bought me for the Somalia Famine Auction. i’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to get your story up and running, dear, but i hope you enjoy it! let me know what you think, and i can fix anything you want.
a fine romance.
The Jeep rumbles and groans as it propels itself up the side of the mountain towards the top clearing. The nearly bare tires kick up rocks that bounce off the windshield and windows. Don’t matter much, he tells himself. He won’t mind once he gets where he’s going. Sure, the engine is grumbling because of the lack of oil in the motor, and the yellow light flickering on his dashboard isn’t very comforting, but he doesn’t care. It’s just a few more miles to his final destination, and then he’s gonna shove this fucking thing off the side of the cliff.
It’s just gotta hold up till then.
The trail is a familiar one. He’s traversed this path a million times and knows every bend and swerve in the road. He also knows that just beyond that thick growth of bush and trees lays the surly little cabin matching the personality of the surly man dwelling within.
He crests the hill and sighs in relief when the tires hit the relatively smooth dirt that makes up a driveway. He passes the storm-battered mailbox and gets his first glimpse of the all-too-familiar wraparound porch. The cabin is small, just big enough for two with a single level. It’s a home built with care to withstand the elements in the wilds of Colorado’s North Country. There’s only one other vehicle parked outside. Remy recognizes his lover’s familiar black truck, covered in dirt and debris from climbing the hills after the most recent snow, and has to smile.
It looks like it’s going to be a good homecoming.
Remy parks, lets the Jeep give one last heaving gasp before it jerks forward, and switches it off. He throws the keys above to the sun visor, and hops out. He grabs the familiar -and hated- duffel from the passenger seat and heads inside. With a brief tug on his jacket to keep the wind out, he climbs the three steps to the front porch and tests the door knob. It’s open, so he pushes through into the foyer and looks around.
He’s home. After seven months away, he’s finally back. Instantly, the scent of pine and lemon welcomes him. It’s nice because it means his lover hasn’t just sat idly by, drinking beers and piling dishes up in the sink until he gets home to wash them. It’s been no secret in their relationship that Remy prefers the housework and Logan prefers Remy preferring the housework, so it’s a more than pleasant arrangement they’ve got going. But to think the older man had willingly picked up a can of Pine Sol and whisked away the dust sets Remy’s stomach aflutter. Yeah, so domesticity turns him on. Go figure.
He drops his bag in the entranceway and carefully toes his feet out of his shoes. It won’t do to begin his triumphant return home with tracking dirt across the clean carpets and brilliantly polished wooden floors.
The light of a fire gives him his lover’s location, and he follows the soft glow of flames to the library down the hall. For such a small house, both parties insisted on a full library when they moved in. Logan, because he enjoyed reading, and Remy, because he’d never had one growing up in the Thieves’ Guild back home in New Orleans. He didn’t particularly like books (thought they were musty and too damn bulky to be useful), but Logan relishes in the turning of the page, the feel of the spine curling against his fingers. The romanticism of it all. Oddly enough that the rugged man with metal bones and claws that come out of his hands loves the romantic notion of holding a book and reading aloud, and the gypsy ex-thief with the Devil’s eyes and a charm known to disrobe women in less than ten seconds flat can’t stand them. Remy did actually like spending time in the library; it’s cozy and warm during the winter, airy and bright during the summer, the perfect place to spend time canoodling with your lover.
Remy can’t hide the smirk sprinting across his face. He shifts his hip into the small door frame, and simply leans as he takes in the sight of Logan, splayed out, napping in his chair.
There’s a half-full glass of scotch at his right elbow. It’s still cold, but it’s sweating a ring onto the tabletop. That’s not important, not when there’s a sleeping and delightfully disheveled man barely snoring. His hair is mussed from sleep, and wild. Remy longs to thread his fingers through it. His face is relaxed in sleep, covered mostly by thick brown beard. The brown beard matches the near-black chest hair just curling up out from under the white wife beater, beneath his usual thick plaid shirt that’s been rolled up to the elbows. It’s buttoned to mid-chest and half-tucked into battered jeans worn at the knees and butt. His feet are bare.
All in all, the perfect image of a man waiting to be jumped. Remy did good.
In a fit of his own playful romantic notion, Remy saunters into the library, and without a word or sound, straddles Logan’s lap. He sets his knees on either side of Logan’s thighs, and nestles his crotch against his lover’s.
If Remy thought he could sneak up on Logan, even while asleep, he was dead wrong.
The man’s senses are unparalleled; part of his mutant gift. Even in a dead sleep, he can hear the creaking of floor boards, the creeping of feet that shouldn’t be there, and so it’s very, very difficult to sneak about Logan even while he sleeps.
Without opening his eyes, Logan smiles and grumbles, voice heavy with latent sleep, “You’re early.”
“Remy jus’ couldn’ stay away, chere, you know dat,” the southern man answers. He gasps when the iron grip of Logan’s left hand wraps around his right wrist, keeping him still and steady. Keeping him from touching. Keeping in control. It doesn’t hurt. After a second, the harsh pressure eases and a rough thumb rubs across the pulse point so tenderly.
And Remy gets his first look after so long away of those beautiful blue eyes that have the power to hold onto him, as visceral as two hands.
“And your trip?”
“Got everyt’ing out da manor and on its way here,” Remy answers. “Movers be droppin’ it all off next week.”
Logan grins, big and bright, and wraps his arms around Remy’s lean waist. He brings him flush against his chest, and his mouth is on the Cajun’s, hard and slow.
The older man’s mouth is wide against Remy’s, moves like he’s got plenty of time to take to enjoy this. To enjoy them, having Remy back. The younger man wasn’t lying when he’s said it’s been too long; ten minutes would have been too long to be away from each other.
The two men haven’t been away from each other since they met; at first, it wasn’t by choice. Slowly, they came to accept each other’s company, even sough it after a time. And, after that, Remy came to revel in the attention, came to seek it out, and Logan would willingly give it.
Remy can remember when they were first brought together. He was half-dead from hunger, and having been rejected from his family after the disastrous events post-Bella Donna, he’d wandered around New Orleans like the vagrant he was. He cheated tourists in card games, picked pockets, and stole what little food he could find, almost ending up dead. He was seventeen when Storm and the X-Men discovered him sitting in the bar like he owned the fucking place, drinking a beer the bartender behind the counter was stupid enough to pour him.
He’d been bitter, hurt deeper than anybody had hurt him before, and completely shut off from the world. Add in his fledgling mutant abilities, and Fate had not been kind to the young boy from The Big Easy.
But the X-Men had saved his life; they took him in, taught him to control his powers so he would stop charging random objects around the manor, and made him a part of something.
More importantly, though, he met Logan. Known as Wolverine to the rest of the X-Men, he wasn’t exactly known for his charms. The two of them hadn’t gotten along right out of the gate, but Remy likes to think he wore the older man down with his charm and good looks. Logan sometimes jokes it was his ass that grabbed his attention. He can’t argue with that; his ass is pretty spectacular.
That spectacular ass is currently nested in his lover’s lap, and Logan’s hands stretch over it, giving his butt a proper squeeze.
“Sounds good,” Logan murmurs. He toys with the waistband of Remy’s jeans, and dips his thumb beneath them. Remy has to close his eyes for a second before he huffs out a contented sigh. Logan’s always known he’s sensitive there.
“You know what else sounds good, chere?” Remy asks, eyebrow prettily quirked.
Logan’s eyes are wide open now, senses alert, ears perked for the next breathed words. Remy’s mouth tips upwards and he drops near his lover’s ear. With a timid stripe licked across the lobe, Remy whispers, “Remy wanna suck your cock, plus que tout.”
And he can feel Logan swell up beneath him, growing thick and heavy between his legs. He takes that as a cue to continue. Lord knew (well, maybe that ain’t something the Lord really cares about) the older man really loved the dirty talk, especially when Remy slipped into his smoother native language.
“Te veux me basier?” Remy whispers, loving how whiskey-smooth his voice sounds to his own ears. Loves knowing what it’s doing to Logan’s libido, even as he feels it rearing its head (so to speak) beneath him. “Je tiens à vous sentir au fond de moi, se déplaçant en profondeur.“
And it’s more than true; the thing Remy wants most, right this very moment, is to feel Logan move within him. Fuck him. Screw his fucking brains out. Make love to him. Just as long as the older man gets with the program and jumps his bones.
“You make Remy wild for you,” he practically purrs as Logan’s hand, the one that had been pawing his ass, moves under the hem of his shirt to palm the heated flesh of his back. “And you know it.”
“Kinda hard to ignore with you jumpin’ all over me, bub,” Logan mutters. Remy snickers, and gives him a quick, firm kiss on the mouth.
“You love it!”
Logan gives a very non-committal shrug, grunts, “Yeah, guess so,” and they’re off to the races with Remy’s mouth on his, lips together, moving together like they’ve never been apart.
Remy thinks he could never give up kissing this man. Where other lovers have been soft (they’ve been mostly women, after all) and easy to map out, not to mention pliant and mostly reserved (although, Remy has experience his fair share of the wild ladies that roam the French Quarter like hungry predators in the jungle), Logan has never been one to shy away from a kiss. He takes charge, covering Remy’s lips with his own, and parting his lips with firm strokes of the tongue. He licks his way into Remy’s mouth, tasting the rich spice that was his Cajun. A tiny wisp of a moan escapes them though neither knows who uttered it.
It’s the slide of lips together, the sweet friction so long missed, the wetness after Logan tastes him again…all this (and the unbearable tension of his zipper pressing against his firm erection). It’s all so much, and not enough at the same time. Remy wants more. Remy wants so much more, and Logan’s going to give it to him.
With a sigh (because he doesn’t want to give up that miraculous mouth, not really), Remy pulls away just as Logan threads a hand through his (too) long hair.
“What’re y-“
“Be patient,” Remy instructs. “Remy been waitin’ a long time to do dis.”
And, after removing his shirt and dropping it whereverdoesn’tmatter, Remy unhinges himself from Logan’s lap. The wave of cold quickly replacing the pleasant warmth that were Logan’s thighs pressed so rightly against his makes him shiver.
He can already see Logan’s dick through his jeans, so prominent it makes his mouth water. He’s had the man inside him (everywhere), but the anticipation never changes. He’s always so eager for it, always surprised by the first delicious thrust as Logan slides within him, deep and deeper still. But that’s for later, Remy decides.
This is now, and there’s something that’s been weighing on the Louisiana-born mutant’s mind since he left the front porch two weeks ago. He remembers how his lover looks when he comes, how strong he feels when he holds him down and makes him wait for it. But he can barely remember how he tastes and he intends to correct that. Right. This. Fucking. Second.
Remy slinks down Logan’s lap to the floor, knees hitting dully. Logan doesn’t move; just chooses to sit and watch and wait for the younger man to make the first move. His eyes are heavily lidded, the blue within barely a sliver. But he can see Remy, plain as day.
The Cajun’s deft fingers have the button popped in a second and the zipper on Logan’s jeans tugged down. The teeth are sharp against Remy’s skin, but he ignores the brief discomfort scraping along the sides of his hands as he reaches inside, pulls out Logan’s cock.
It’s not the longest he’s ever seen, but it’s thick and flushed. Remy can’t take his eyes off the man in front of him, and without another thought, he licks a long wet strip across his palm.
He wraps his hand around the base of Logan’s cock, and immediately lowers his head, taking the tip into his mouth and onto his tongue. It’s heavy and near fills up his mouth, just like he likes it.
It’s been too long since they saw each other, since Remy dropped to his knees and took Logan into his mouth.
The older man doesn’t hold on long, and Remy gleefully swallows him down, smiling the entire time.
After Logan gets his breath back, and Remy showers off the grime of travel, they’re ready to go out. The couple doesn’t usually make it a habit to escape their cabin (or, as Marie called when she visited months ago after first moving in together, their “love nest”), but it’s a special night. It’s been too long since they’ve been with each other, and Remy convinces the practical hermit that is his lover that a night on the town (small town, that is, considering the town down the mountain has a population of near two thousand people, a change from the nearby New York City of two million they had at the manor). Remy dresses in the jeans he knows shows off his ass just right and grins wide when he feels Logan’s eyes glued to his backside until he climbs into the trunk.
The Blue Moon Bar is a local hangout for the steel workers getting off work at the mill, the teachers clocking out after the end of the school day, and any mom and pop looking for a cold beer and a working jukebox. When the two men pull up in the truck, the parking lot is bursting and the sounds of Lynyrd Skynyrd reverberate right through the walls. The interior is just as packed with people as the walls are covered in local memorabilia. Trophies, pictures of local sports icons, fishing testaments, and the occasional autographed photo cover the wall. It’s an honest-to-goodness bar without pretentions and fluff all those snooty bars back in the Big Apple.
There’s a couple of seats at the bar and they squeeze past a near-drunk (judging by the clear crack visible above his pant line) plumber and a couple of girls who look like they’re celebrating a bachelorette party. Logan rolls his eyes, but Remy lets his roam over the tight jeans and revealing tops. He might be taken, but he can still appreciate a good view.
“Two beers. No glasses,” Logan orders.
“What’re you up to tonight, handsome?” It’s one of the girls from the party nearby, laying her hand along Remy’s arm. Logan’s head swivels around, beer in hand, and he notices Remy’s head tilted to catch something one of the girls whispers into his ear.
Her giggle is slurred, if that’s even possible, and her liquor-dulled eyes light upon Remy’s face. She appraises him, sweeps her view up and down, performing the classic tactic, expressing her interest. Remy doesn’t miss it; he never misses that kind of shit. It makes him grin in pride, like he’s accomplished something by catching a drunk woman’s attention. He doesn’t back down again, he doesn’t discourage anything (like he never does), so the girl takes the seemingly obvious hint and drops a heavy hand on the Cajun’s arm, rubbing up and down with such familiarity that Logan’s hackles immediately rise.
He tries not to focus on it. Remy’s never been unfaithful and Logan trusts him. It’s the tequila-filled harpy he doesn’t trust.
“Julie!” a girl from the corner calls to the other at the bar. She waves, and the drunk girl waves back, hand flinging side to side. They’re all part of the same bachelorette party, and it looks like the masses are regrouping.
The girl, Julie, turns back to Remy. She not-so-subtly shoves herself into him, tits snuggled up against Remy’s upper arm. An unmistakable message. Come home with me…
Oh, hell no.
“We’re heading back to the motel…” Julie informs her new friend. “Wondered if you wanted to join us.”
Remy chuckles low in his throat, drops his eyes, easily flattered. He doesn’t want to hurt the girl’s feelings, but Logan’s more than ready to cut the feelings out of her heart and shove them underneath his boot heel.
“Y’see here, chere…”
Logan’s eyes roll right up into his head and back down, and before Remy can properly refuse her advances (because that’s what he was going to do, he’s just taking his time and enjoying the interest of the opposite gender), Logan’s right arm snakes around his lover’s waist and draws him back into himself, chest to back.
Julie doesn’t miss it, even through the haze of alcohol.
Logan plants a slow kiss behind Remy’s ear and glares sat the girl over his shoulder.
“He’s not interested.”
Julie’s eyebrows zoom into her hairline as she tries to comprehend what just happened.
Remy doesn’t talk, but just lets Logan dominate the situation. He doesn’t say anything, but watching him shut the girl down and so publicly claiming Remy for himself thrills him like nothing else.
“My bad, I didn’t know,” she stammers.
“Now you do,” Logan growls. She doesn’t move, so he reiterates. “Get outta here.”
Julie stumbles away to the other group of girls, and they all gather together, whispering and muttering about them, heads occasionally swiveling towards the two men by the bar.
“Dat was rude,” Remy chides his lover.
“Like I care,” Logan snaps. He downs the rest of his beer while Remy takes a tiny first sip from his and makes a face.
“Ugh, beer’s warm.”
Logan shrugs. “Shouldn’t have been flirtin’ then, huh?”
Remy wraps his own arms around Logan’s neck.
“Logan was jealous, huh?”
“You may not know this about me,” Logan says, “but I don’t get jealous. I don’t need to.”
“Remy tink it’s sweet.”
“Well, what does Remy tink about getting’ out of here and headin’ home?”
Remy shrugs. “Remy tinks we got cold beers at home. And dere free, too.”
“Ya got a point there, Gumbo.”
The two men walk out of the bar together just about fifteen minutes after arriving, but neither cared or thought it a waste of a trip. Remy got his little night out, and an extra bonus of watching Logan defend his honor. Logan got his cold beer and the unexpected thrill of defending his territory. Remy’s just glad nobody had to pee on anything. Or anyone, for that matter.
The parking lot is as empty as the bar is full, but they’re truck has been unluckily sandwiched between a Mazda and a pretentious brand-new Dodge Charger, a piss-poor attempt at reviving the muscle car. Remy slides through the narrow space between the truck and the black Charger, but before he can swing the door open (or inch it open, seeing as how the Charger is parked so closely, it’s practically molded onto their truck) Logan’s in his space and crowding against him.
The older man’s mouth is on Remy’s, hard and fast and rough and possessive and everything Remy has ever liked in a kiss. Callused hands cup the Cajun’s face and Logan’s thumb tenderly strokes the height of Remy’s left cheekbone, smoothing over the soft, thin skin there. It’s comforting and fierce at the same time, like Logan is deliberately trying to scorch him from the inside out.
When they part, their breath is on the air in twin puffs of white.
“What was dat for, mon ami?”
“Just reminding you who ya belong to,” Logan explains. He reaches down, gives Remy’s ass a good squeeze. “You’re mine, always will be.”
Remy nods, because he can’t quite manage to say anything right now. All available blood has been routed south for the foreseeable future, so he just opens the door and slips into the car. Logan does the same, and soon, they’re on their way back up the mountain they just traversed fifteen minutes ago.
Remy isn’t afraid to admit he’s missed this. He’s missed this more than anything. Being away and helping people, as rewarding as that is, cannot compare to the sense of purpose he gets when he kisses Logan or hugs Logan or just watches the man read his Japanese history books in the library with his bare feet tucked under the edge of Remy’s blanket. He may have been an X-Man first, and he may have been a thief before that, but here, he’s just Remy and he’s Logan’s.
They’re climbing the front steps to the cabin when Remy turns, corners Logan in the doorway, and plants a fat, sloppy kiss on that scowling mouth.
“Jus’ wanted to say, Remy loves you, mon ami.”
Logan smiles, does the same, and whispers in that sexy, gruff voice. “Lord knows why I let ya stick around, ya piss me off so damn much. Must be that whole love thing.”
“Prob’ly.”
“Yeah, yeah. Now, get your ass inside and open me that beer ya promised me.” Gives him a smack on the ass for good measure.
The grin on Remy’s face as he saunters into the kitchen and opens the fridge threatens to break his face, but he doesn’t care.
He’s so damn happy to be home.
fandom: x-men au
pairing: remy/logan (gambit/wolverine)
summary: the cabin looks the exact same, just as the man behind the patio railing looks the exact same. not many things have changed, but remy has. remy has changed, for the better.
warnings: man on man sexing, language
disclaimer: x-men and anything affiliated with it belong to marvel (which now belongs to Disney, the bastards) and stan lee. i own nothing below. remy’s past is a mish-mash of the movies and the comics, with a little extra thrown in.
word count: 3800 ~
author’s notes: this was written for lmx_v3point3, who bought me for the Somalia Famine Auction. i’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to get your story up and running, dear, but i hope you enjoy it! let me know what you think, and i can fix anything you want.
a fine romance.
The Jeep rumbles and groans as it propels itself up the side of the mountain towards the top clearing. The nearly bare tires kick up rocks that bounce off the windshield and windows. Don’t matter much, he tells himself. He won’t mind once he gets where he’s going. Sure, the engine is grumbling because of the lack of oil in the motor, and the yellow light flickering on his dashboard isn’t very comforting, but he doesn’t care. It’s just a few more miles to his final destination, and then he’s gonna shove this fucking thing off the side of the cliff.
It’s just gotta hold up till then.
The trail is a familiar one. He’s traversed this path a million times and knows every bend and swerve in the road. He also knows that just beyond that thick growth of bush and trees lays the surly little cabin matching the personality of the surly man dwelling within.
He crests the hill and sighs in relief when the tires hit the relatively smooth dirt that makes up a driveway. He passes the storm-battered mailbox and gets his first glimpse of the all-too-familiar wraparound porch. The cabin is small, just big enough for two with a single level. It’s a home built with care to withstand the elements in the wilds of Colorado’s North Country. There’s only one other vehicle parked outside. Remy recognizes his lover’s familiar black truck, covered in dirt and debris from climbing the hills after the most recent snow, and has to smile.
It looks like it’s going to be a good homecoming.
Remy parks, lets the Jeep give one last heaving gasp before it jerks forward, and switches it off. He throws the keys above to the sun visor, and hops out. He grabs the familiar -and hated- duffel from the passenger seat and heads inside. With a brief tug on his jacket to keep the wind out, he climbs the three steps to the front porch and tests the door knob. It’s open, so he pushes through into the foyer and looks around.
He’s home. After seven months away, he’s finally back. Instantly, the scent of pine and lemon welcomes him. It’s nice because it means his lover hasn’t just sat idly by, drinking beers and piling dishes up in the sink until he gets home to wash them. It’s been no secret in their relationship that Remy prefers the housework and Logan prefers Remy preferring the housework, so it’s a more than pleasant arrangement they’ve got going. But to think the older man had willingly picked up a can of Pine Sol and whisked away the dust sets Remy’s stomach aflutter. Yeah, so domesticity turns him on. Go figure.
He drops his bag in the entranceway and carefully toes his feet out of his shoes. It won’t do to begin his triumphant return home with tracking dirt across the clean carpets and brilliantly polished wooden floors.
The light of a fire gives him his lover’s location, and he follows the soft glow of flames to the library down the hall. For such a small house, both parties insisted on a full library when they moved in. Logan, because he enjoyed reading, and Remy, because he’d never had one growing up in the Thieves’ Guild back home in New Orleans. He didn’t particularly like books (thought they were musty and too damn bulky to be useful), but Logan relishes in the turning of the page, the feel of the spine curling against his fingers. The romanticism of it all. Oddly enough that the rugged man with metal bones and claws that come out of his hands loves the romantic notion of holding a book and reading aloud, and the gypsy ex-thief with the Devil’s eyes and a charm known to disrobe women in less than ten seconds flat can’t stand them. Remy did actually like spending time in the library; it’s cozy and warm during the winter, airy and bright during the summer, the perfect place to spend time canoodling with your lover.
Remy can’t hide the smirk sprinting across his face. He shifts his hip into the small door frame, and simply leans as he takes in the sight of Logan, splayed out, napping in his chair.
There’s a half-full glass of scotch at his right elbow. It’s still cold, but it’s sweating a ring onto the tabletop. That’s not important, not when there’s a sleeping and delightfully disheveled man barely snoring. His hair is mussed from sleep, and wild. Remy longs to thread his fingers through it. His face is relaxed in sleep, covered mostly by thick brown beard. The brown beard matches the near-black chest hair just curling up out from under the white wife beater, beneath his usual thick plaid shirt that’s been rolled up to the elbows. It’s buttoned to mid-chest and half-tucked into battered jeans worn at the knees and butt. His feet are bare.
All in all, the perfect image of a man waiting to be jumped. Remy did good.
In a fit of his own playful romantic notion, Remy saunters into the library, and without a word or sound, straddles Logan’s lap. He sets his knees on either side of Logan’s thighs, and nestles his crotch against his lover’s.
If Remy thought he could sneak up on Logan, even while asleep, he was dead wrong.
The man’s senses are unparalleled; part of his mutant gift. Even in a dead sleep, he can hear the creaking of floor boards, the creeping of feet that shouldn’t be there, and so it’s very, very difficult to sneak about Logan even while he sleeps.
Without opening his eyes, Logan smiles and grumbles, voice heavy with latent sleep, “You’re early.”
“Remy jus’ couldn’ stay away, chere, you know dat,” the southern man answers. He gasps when the iron grip of Logan’s left hand wraps around his right wrist, keeping him still and steady. Keeping him from touching. Keeping in control. It doesn’t hurt. After a second, the harsh pressure eases and a rough thumb rubs across the pulse point so tenderly.
And Remy gets his first look after so long away of those beautiful blue eyes that have the power to hold onto him, as visceral as two hands.
“And your trip?”
“Got everyt’ing out da manor and on its way here,” Remy answers. “Movers be droppin’ it all off next week.”
Logan grins, big and bright, and wraps his arms around Remy’s lean waist. He brings him flush against his chest, and his mouth is on the Cajun’s, hard and slow.
The older man’s mouth is wide against Remy’s, moves like he’s got plenty of time to take to enjoy this. To enjoy them, having Remy back. The younger man wasn’t lying when he’s said it’s been too long; ten minutes would have been too long to be away from each other.
The two men haven’t been away from each other since they met; at first, it wasn’t by choice. Slowly, they came to accept each other’s company, even sough it after a time. And, after that, Remy came to revel in the attention, came to seek it out, and Logan would willingly give it.
Remy can remember when they were first brought together. He was half-dead from hunger, and having been rejected from his family after the disastrous events post-Bella Donna, he’d wandered around New Orleans like the vagrant he was. He cheated tourists in card games, picked pockets, and stole what little food he could find, almost ending up dead. He was seventeen when Storm and the X-Men discovered him sitting in the bar like he owned the fucking place, drinking a beer the bartender behind the counter was stupid enough to pour him.
He’d been bitter, hurt deeper than anybody had hurt him before, and completely shut off from the world. Add in his fledgling mutant abilities, and Fate had not been kind to the young boy from The Big Easy.
But the X-Men had saved his life; they took him in, taught him to control his powers so he would stop charging random objects around the manor, and made him a part of something.
More importantly, though, he met Logan. Known as Wolverine to the rest of the X-Men, he wasn’t exactly known for his charms. The two of them hadn’t gotten along right out of the gate, but Remy likes to think he wore the older man down with his charm and good looks. Logan sometimes jokes it was his ass that grabbed his attention. He can’t argue with that; his ass is pretty spectacular.
That spectacular ass is currently nested in his lover’s lap, and Logan’s hands stretch over it, giving his butt a proper squeeze.
“Sounds good,” Logan murmurs. He toys with the waistband of Remy’s jeans, and dips his thumb beneath them. Remy has to close his eyes for a second before he huffs out a contented sigh. Logan’s always known he’s sensitive there.
“You know what else sounds good, chere?” Remy asks, eyebrow prettily quirked.
Logan’s eyes are wide open now, senses alert, ears perked for the next breathed words. Remy’s mouth tips upwards and he drops near his lover’s ear. With a timid stripe licked across the lobe, Remy whispers, “Remy wanna suck your cock, plus que tout.”
And he can feel Logan swell up beneath him, growing thick and heavy between his legs. He takes that as a cue to continue. Lord knew (well, maybe that ain’t something the Lord really cares about) the older man really loved the dirty talk, especially when Remy slipped into his smoother native language.
“Te veux me basier?” Remy whispers, loving how whiskey-smooth his voice sounds to his own ears. Loves knowing what it’s doing to Logan’s libido, even as he feels it rearing its head (so to speak) beneath him. “Je tiens à vous sentir au fond de moi, se déplaçant en profondeur.“
And it’s more than true; the thing Remy wants most, right this very moment, is to feel Logan move within him. Fuck him. Screw his fucking brains out. Make love to him. Just as long as the older man gets with the program and jumps his bones.
“You make Remy wild for you,” he practically purrs as Logan’s hand, the one that had been pawing his ass, moves under the hem of his shirt to palm the heated flesh of his back. “And you know it.”
“Kinda hard to ignore with you jumpin’ all over me, bub,” Logan mutters. Remy snickers, and gives him a quick, firm kiss on the mouth.
“You love it!”
Logan gives a very non-committal shrug, grunts, “Yeah, guess so,” and they’re off to the races with Remy’s mouth on his, lips together, moving together like they’ve never been apart.
Remy thinks he could never give up kissing this man. Where other lovers have been soft (they’ve been mostly women, after all) and easy to map out, not to mention pliant and mostly reserved (although, Remy has experience his fair share of the wild ladies that roam the French Quarter like hungry predators in the jungle), Logan has never been one to shy away from a kiss. He takes charge, covering Remy’s lips with his own, and parting his lips with firm strokes of the tongue. He licks his way into Remy’s mouth, tasting the rich spice that was his Cajun. A tiny wisp of a moan escapes them though neither knows who uttered it.
It’s the slide of lips together, the sweet friction so long missed, the wetness after Logan tastes him again…all this (and the unbearable tension of his zipper pressing against his firm erection). It’s all so much, and not enough at the same time. Remy wants more. Remy wants so much more, and Logan’s going to give it to him.
With a sigh (because he doesn’t want to give up that miraculous mouth, not really), Remy pulls away just as Logan threads a hand through his (too) long hair.
“What’re y-“
“Be patient,” Remy instructs. “Remy been waitin’ a long time to do dis.”
And, after removing his shirt and dropping it whereverdoesn’tmatter, Remy unhinges himself from Logan’s lap. The wave of cold quickly replacing the pleasant warmth that were Logan’s thighs pressed so rightly against his makes him shiver.
He can already see Logan’s dick through his jeans, so prominent it makes his mouth water. He’s had the man inside him (everywhere), but the anticipation never changes. He’s always so eager for it, always surprised by the first delicious thrust as Logan slides within him, deep and deeper still. But that’s for later, Remy decides.
This is now, and there’s something that’s been weighing on the Louisiana-born mutant’s mind since he left the front porch two weeks ago. He remembers how his lover looks when he comes, how strong he feels when he holds him down and makes him wait for it. But he can barely remember how he tastes and he intends to correct that. Right. This. Fucking. Second.
Remy slinks down Logan’s lap to the floor, knees hitting dully. Logan doesn’t move; just chooses to sit and watch and wait for the younger man to make the first move. His eyes are heavily lidded, the blue within barely a sliver. But he can see Remy, plain as day.
The Cajun’s deft fingers have the button popped in a second and the zipper on Logan’s jeans tugged down. The teeth are sharp against Remy’s skin, but he ignores the brief discomfort scraping along the sides of his hands as he reaches inside, pulls out Logan’s cock.
It’s not the longest he’s ever seen, but it’s thick and flushed. Remy can’t take his eyes off the man in front of him, and without another thought, he licks a long wet strip across his palm.
He wraps his hand around the base of Logan’s cock, and immediately lowers his head, taking the tip into his mouth and onto his tongue. It’s heavy and near fills up his mouth, just like he likes it.
It’s been too long since they saw each other, since Remy dropped to his knees and took Logan into his mouth.
The older man doesn’t hold on long, and Remy gleefully swallows him down, smiling the entire time.
After Logan gets his breath back, and Remy showers off the grime of travel, they’re ready to go out. The couple doesn’t usually make it a habit to escape their cabin (or, as Marie called when she visited months ago after first moving in together, their “love nest”), but it’s a special night. It’s been too long since they’ve been with each other, and Remy convinces the practical hermit that is his lover that a night on the town (small town, that is, considering the town down the mountain has a population of near two thousand people, a change from the nearby New York City of two million they had at the manor). Remy dresses in the jeans he knows shows off his ass just right and grins wide when he feels Logan’s eyes glued to his backside until he climbs into the trunk.
The Blue Moon Bar is a local hangout for the steel workers getting off work at the mill, the teachers clocking out after the end of the school day, and any mom and pop looking for a cold beer and a working jukebox. When the two men pull up in the truck, the parking lot is bursting and the sounds of Lynyrd Skynyrd reverberate right through the walls. The interior is just as packed with people as the walls are covered in local memorabilia. Trophies, pictures of local sports icons, fishing testaments, and the occasional autographed photo cover the wall. It’s an honest-to-goodness bar without pretentions and fluff all those snooty bars back in the Big Apple.
There’s a couple of seats at the bar and they squeeze past a near-drunk (judging by the clear crack visible above his pant line) plumber and a couple of girls who look like they’re celebrating a bachelorette party. Logan rolls his eyes, but Remy lets his roam over the tight jeans and revealing tops. He might be taken, but he can still appreciate a good view.
“Two beers. No glasses,” Logan orders.
“What’re you up to tonight, handsome?” It’s one of the girls from the party nearby, laying her hand along Remy’s arm. Logan’s head swivels around, beer in hand, and he notices Remy’s head tilted to catch something one of the girls whispers into his ear.
Her giggle is slurred, if that’s even possible, and her liquor-dulled eyes light upon Remy’s face. She appraises him, sweeps her view up and down, performing the classic tactic, expressing her interest. Remy doesn’t miss it; he never misses that kind of shit. It makes him grin in pride, like he’s accomplished something by catching a drunk woman’s attention. He doesn’t back down again, he doesn’t discourage anything (like he never does), so the girl takes the seemingly obvious hint and drops a heavy hand on the Cajun’s arm, rubbing up and down with such familiarity that Logan’s hackles immediately rise.
He tries not to focus on it. Remy’s never been unfaithful and Logan trusts him. It’s the tequila-filled harpy he doesn’t trust.
“Julie!” a girl from the corner calls to the other at the bar. She waves, and the drunk girl waves back, hand flinging side to side. They’re all part of the same bachelorette party, and it looks like the masses are regrouping.
The girl, Julie, turns back to Remy. She not-so-subtly shoves herself into him, tits snuggled up against Remy’s upper arm. An unmistakable message. Come home with me…
Oh, hell no.
“We’re heading back to the motel…” Julie informs her new friend. “Wondered if you wanted to join us.”
Remy chuckles low in his throat, drops his eyes, easily flattered. He doesn’t want to hurt the girl’s feelings, but Logan’s more than ready to cut the feelings out of her heart and shove them underneath his boot heel.
“Y’see here, chere…”
Logan’s eyes roll right up into his head and back down, and before Remy can properly refuse her advances (because that’s what he was going to do, he’s just taking his time and enjoying the interest of the opposite gender), Logan’s right arm snakes around his lover’s waist and draws him back into himself, chest to back.
Julie doesn’t miss it, even through the haze of alcohol.
Logan plants a slow kiss behind Remy’s ear and glares sat the girl over his shoulder.
“He’s not interested.”
Julie’s eyebrows zoom into her hairline as she tries to comprehend what just happened.
Remy doesn’t talk, but just lets Logan dominate the situation. He doesn’t say anything, but watching him shut the girl down and so publicly claiming Remy for himself thrills him like nothing else.
“My bad, I didn’t know,” she stammers.
“Now you do,” Logan growls. She doesn’t move, so he reiterates. “Get outta here.”
Julie stumbles away to the other group of girls, and they all gather together, whispering and muttering about them, heads occasionally swiveling towards the two men by the bar.
“Dat was rude,” Remy chides his lover.
“Like I care,” Logan snaps. He downs the rest of his beer while Remy takes a tiny first sip from his and makes a face.
“Ugh, beer’s warm.”
Logan shrugs. “Shouldn’t have been flirtin’ then, huh?”
Remy wraps his own arms around Logan’s neck.
“Logan was jealous, huh?”
“You may not know this about me,” Logan says, “but I don’t get jealous. I don’t need to.”
“Remy tink it’s sweet.”
“Well, what does Remy tink about getting’ out of here and headin’ home?”
Remy shrugs. “Remy tinks we got cold beers at home. And dere free, too.”
“Ya got a point there, Gumbo.”
The two men walk out of the bar together just about fifteen minutes after arriving, but neither cared or thought it a waste of a trip. Remy got his little night out, and an extra bonus of watching Logan defend his honor. Logan got his cold beer and the unexpected thrill of defending his territory. Remy’s just glad nobody had to pee on anything. Or anyone, for that matter.
The parking lot is as empty as the bar is full, but they’re truck has been unluckily sandwiched between a Mazda and a pretentious brand-new Dodge Charger, a piss-poor attempt at reviving the muscle car. Remy slides through the narrow space between the truck and the black Charger, but before he can swing the door open (or inch it open, seeing as how the Charger is parked so closely, it’s practically molded onto their truck) Logan’s in his space and crowding against him.
The older man’s mouth is on Remy’s, hard and fast and rough and possessive and everything Remy has ever liked in a kiss. Callused hands cup the Cajun’s face and Logan’s thumb tenderly strokes the height of Remy’s left cheekbone, smoothing over the soft, thin skin there. It’s comforting and fierce at the same time, like Logan is deliberately trying to scorch him from the inside out.
When they part, their breath is on the air in twin puffs of white.
“What was dat for, mon ami?”
“Just reminding you who ya belong to,” Logan explains. He reaches down, gives Remy’s ass a good squeeze. “You’re mine, always will be.”
Remy nods, because he can’t quite manage to say anything right now. All available blood has been routed south for the foreseeable future, so he just opens the door and slips into the car. Logan does the same, and soon, they’re on their way back up the mountain they just traversed fifteen minutes ago.
Remy isn’t afraid to admit he’s missed this. He’s missed this more than anything. Being away and helping people, as rewarding as that is, cannot compare to the sense of purpose he gets when he kisses Logan or hugs Logan or just watches the man read his Japanese history books in the library with his bare feet tucked under the edge of Remy’s blanket. He may have been an X-Man first, and he may have been a thief before that, but here, he’s just Remy and he’s Logan’s.
They’re climbing the front steps to the cabin when Remy turns, corners Logan in the doorway, and plants a fat, sloppy kiss on that scowling mouth.
“Jus’ wanted to say, Remy loves you, mon ami.”
Logan smiles, does the same, and whispers in that sexy, gruff voice. “Lord knows why I let ya stick around, ya piss me off so damn much. Must be that whole love thing.”
“Prob’ly.”
“Yeah, yeah. Now, get your ass inside and open me that beer ya promised me.” Gives him a smack on the ass for good measure.
The grin on Remy’s face as he saunters into the kitchen and opens the fridge threatens to break his face, but he doesn’t care.
He’s so damn happy to be home.