I don't own these characters, Marvel does.

For my friend GLAMbeau.

Warning: Very Naughty But Tasteful Adult Subject Matter.

STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT
By A. Lias

Biting the end off his cigar and expertly spitting it into Professor Xavier's coffee cup from a distance of about eight feet, Logan propped his feet up on the console. He sighed, settling down to digest a fast-food dinner of seven double cheeseburgers, four milkshakes, a twelvepack of Coors, five large portions of french fries, a party-sized bag of rippled potato chips, and that roast Betsy was planning to cook for tonight. He rested his hands on his belly, blissfully contemplating his gluttony, and erupted with a magnificent belch that rated about a Six on the Rictor scale. He ordinarily didn't get stuck on monitor duty--after all, who was going to tell HIM he had to sit around looking at stupid TV screens for three hours? McCoy had PROMISED he'd be back by then, and he'd stick by those words, by gum, or there was going to be a search-and-destroy mission done on his guts when Logan caught up with him. But nobody else was home, Hank had wheedled, he'd promised Trish he'd drive into the city and feed her cat, they were trying to get back together, it'd mean so much to him, please please please.

'I'm a sucker,' Logan grunted ruefully.

The Mansion's internal sensors picked up someone entering the house. Whoever it was knew the codes, so Logan gave the screen a cursory glance: Just the Cajun back from his ramblings amongst the civilized population. Logan watched Gambit stroll past the bulletin board, take off a message, read it quickly, then pocket it with a sly grin and bound off up the stairs three at a time. Wolverine had taken that call: The lady wouldn't identify herself, but she sounded REAL disappointed that LeBeau wasn't home when she called.

Logan chuckled then went back to meditating upon his stomach and the delicious feeling of being stuffed to the gills. He started to doze off, then idly decided to check on the Cajun.

It wasn't hard to find the punk: He was in the shower, lathered as a buck with rabies, energetically scrubbing his scalp with what looked like half a bottle of shampoo and slinging more suds on the tile than a rodeo bull.

Logan started to switch off the viewer, but decided to leave it alone for now, just to make sure the Cajun didn't slip on all that soap flying around and break his fool neck.

Observant as always, he noticed that Remy's skin had acquired a tawny gold tan over the summer. That was nice; his redhead complexion tended to leave him pale after a winter--he looked heathier with the tan, even though Logan thought he was still too skinny (not that most people wouldn't be considered skinny compared to Wolverine). Remy wasn't scrawny by any means; his tall body was angular and sinewy, with long graceful bones and perfect proportions from broad shoulders down to a narrow waist and very small hips, like an Egyptian torso. Even his auburn hair had picked up golden streaks from the sun, glinting in the bright bathroom lights in spite of being wet.

Then he noticed that the Cajun's skin had no tan lines.

Ah ha.

LeBeau KNEW that Chuck didn't allow nude sunbathing on the Xavier grounds. But he was doing it anyway. Somewhere on the estate, that punk was laying around naked.

Where?

Logan found that question creeping into his thoughts later that evening during dinner. Remy hadn't reappeared since he'd finished his shower and gone tearing off toward New Salem on his Harley a few hours ago, so Logan volunteered to eat his share of the Sloppy Joes (there was no pot roast left to cook; SOMEBODY had eaten it all earlier in the day, and probably raw, since the oven and range had not been in use all day, observed Detective 'Scotland Yard' Summers).

He was still awake shortly after midnight when he heard the Harley about a mile down the road. Naturally, Gambit would turn off the engine and walk the motorcycle the last few hundred yards to the Mansion--considerate enough of any of his teammates who might be sleeping--but Logan's sense of hearing was far keener than the rest of the X-Mens'. He jumped out of bed and went to the front door. Logan wanted Gambit to know he couldn't just sneak in and out with no one being the wiser.

The door was opening as he took the landing, so Wolverine hid in the shadows. There was a deliberate squeak left in the hinges--yet it never made a sound when LeBeau's hand was on the doorknob; maybe another mutant power the Cajun didn't bother to mention. Oh, Remy was a mess: He'd lost his cufflinks and all the buttons on his shirt so that it hung open to his waist, lipstick covered his throat and chest. He reeked of Chanel No. 5 perfume and womanly musk. Good thing Rogue was out of town; even though she had announced they were no longer dating--and Gambit could hardly be expected to pine away the rest of his life waiting for her: The fact that he wasn't exactly crying in his beer would still be a bitter pill for Rogue to swallow.

'Late evening, eh, kid?' Logan asked nonchalantly, stepping into the light.

'Merde!' Gambit hissed, then he saw who his observer was, grinned, and put a finger to his lips. 'No' so loud, mon ami!'

'Oh, why not? This the kinda woman ya don't wanna bring home ta get our approval of?'

'As if.' Remy smiled. He hiccupped--clearly a little too much champagne--then took a step back from Logan, and stumbled over the edge of a rug, nearly falling. Would have fallen flat on his handsome face if Logan hadn't caught him.

'Don't take much ta getcha pickled, does it, punk?'

'Ol' Remy hol' his liquor jus' fine, 'cept when it come t' champagne.'

Logan knew that for a fact; the Cajun could drink any of them under the table. Except for himself, of course. Interesting that he could put away a fifth of Jack Daniels in one sitting without so much as blinking one of his red eyes--but a few glasses of champagne and he was all tipsy. Logan mentally filed this morsel of knowledge for safekeeping. 'C'mon,' he said, locking an arm around Remy's waist. 'I'll put ya t' bed.'

Remy's famous dexterity was nowhere to be seen tonight. He tried to tackle the button fly of his 501 jeans, but quickly gave up and let Logan do all the work. When Remy was in bed, Logan went into the bathroom, moistened a washcloth with warm water, then returned to wash his young friend's face. The Cajun was already asleep, so Logan wiped the lipstick off his chest to spare him a lecture from Cyclops should he get caught before he sobered up enough for a shower.

But when he had finished, Logan remained sitting on the edge of the bed. 'One helluva beautiful kid, ain'tcha?' he whispered.

The Acadian heard the voice, but was too stuporous to understand the words. He patted Logan's hand, the one that rested on his shoulder, and murmured, 'T'anks, Logan. You a good friend.'

Wolverine retreated back to his own room. He didn't know what was wrong with him. He finally went to sleep, but had dreams of running his fingers and face through a mane of long red hair; when he cupped his lover's chin and tilted the face back for a kiss, he found himself staring into demonic red eyes. The shock woke him up, and there was no more sleep for Logan that night.

He saw LeBeau skip out of the X-Mansion at noon the following day, wearing cut-off jeans, a tee shirt, and an old pair of Reeboks. He also had a Walkman and a beach towel around his neck, so Logan knew he was up to infracting the rules again. He didn't know why it bothered him so much that Gambit was flagrantly disobeying Professor X; heck, he himself did it all the time without thinking twice. But today was a beautiful summer day, eighty-five degrees Farenheit, not a cloud in the sky--a hot and lazy day if there ever was one. Why shouldn't the kid take advantage of a sunny afternoon with no supervillains on the bright horizon?

Because he's not supposed to be sunbathing in the nude, that's way.

Logan gave Remy an hour's headstart; that was only fair. Clearly, the Cajun didn't know he was being followed; the trail was clear, hadn't even tried to hide his tracks, just wandered through the woods like Little Red Riding Hood on the way to Grandma's House. This was as easy as tracking Galactus across Waikiki beach.

Hiding in a blackberry thicket, Logan observed his quarry: LeBeau had already spread out the towel, stripped down to nothing but the earphones for the Walkman, and was blissfully dozing on the terrycloth, his smooth back golden in the noonday sun and his face buried in the thick terry nap of the towel. From his hidden vantage point Logan could hear the music--some hip FM radio station the kids likd to listen to and lyrics that seemed to consist solely of chanting, 'Baby baby baby baby baby.'

Suddenly Remy's head moved to the side and he cheerfully called out, ' Allo, Logan!'

Caught redhanded, Wolverine shuffled out of the thicket and into the clearing.

'Honin' dem hunting skills, mon ami?'

'Yeah,' Logan stammered, grateful for the excuse handed to him on a silver platter.

Remy didn't seem startled by this visitor; he merely continued to bask like a happy lizard on a warm rock. 'Nex' time, lemme know you in de mood f' stalking an' Gambit give you a harder time finding him. I not expecting company out here in de woods.'

'You were easy,' Logan said lamely.

'I sorry. Be more a' a challenge nex' time, promise. Min' putting some suntan lotion on my back?' He nudged a plastic bottle of Coppertone toward Logan. 'I can' reach ev'ry spot back dere.'

Logan gulped. Remy had closed his eyes again; his vision was better in pitch darkness than it was in daylight due to the complex systems of infrared lenses in his unique eyes, and he couldn't put on his sunglasses because he was lying on his face.

Something else for Logan to be grateful for. He didn't want Remy looking at him right then. He picked up the bottle and squirted a line of the lotion along Remy's spine. Wishing fervently that he was wearing gloves, that he was anywhere in the universe but here, he began to spread the lotion over the Cajun's shoulders and ribs.

'Dat feels good,' Remy sighed. 'I give you jus' five hours t' quit dat.'

Logan rolled his eyes. He felt like bolting. Like running for the hills. His enhanced senses included that of touch as well as sight, smell, and hearing--and right now, Gambit's skin was making him crazy: Such incredible skin--soft as a very young child's, but stretched over hard plates of muscle and exquisite bones. Everything about his body was graceful, tender, yet strong; he was prettier than any girl Logan had ever seen, but there was nothing girlish about him. He smelled like cedar and cinnamon. Logan's hands moved lower, of their own will because he wanted desperately to stop, massaging the taut hips and buttocks; he feared that Remy would say something, but he took no notice of the familiarity and was on the verge of nodding off again.

Logan felt like eating him up, but all he could say was, 'Turn over and I'll do yer other side.'

Remy obediently flipped over onto his back, utterly nonchalant and unselfconscious. Thank goodness part of the huge towel came with him when he turned, covering part of his body, or Logan would have been in even more difficulty than he already was. As it was, he was now stroking that lovely chest with its tiny white nipples that responded involuntarily to the touch of his fingers, now that flat thin stomach, now those superb thighs and calves.

It was all Logan could do to keep from ripping the towel away from him and taking him then and there in the clearing. He suddenly realized that THAT was what he wanted to do to LeBeau; he didn't give a damn that the punk wasn't minding his P's and Q's about Chuck's stupid rules, he wanted to pin Gambit down on that towel and make him scream.

'Gotta go,' he muttered.

He was nearly out of the clearing and back into the haven of the undergrowth when he heard LeBeau sleepily call, 'T'anks f' putting on de suntan lotion!'

Three cold showers later, Logan sat like Buddha, tending the Bonsai tree he'd brought indoors. At least, that was what the other X-Men thought he was doing. Actually, he was eavesdropping on a conversation that had started out private and ended up a screaming match. A totally one-sided screaming match, too: Apparently Gambit had exhibited the unmitigated gall to ask Rogue out to dinner.

'AH DONE TOLE YOU AH AIN'T SEEIN' YOU NO MORE, REMY! AH'M GOIN' OUT WITH JOSEPH NOW AN' I NEVAH WANNA DATE YOU AGIN!!! AH DOAN' WANT NO MAN I CAN'T TRUST AND AH SURE AS SHOOTING CAN'T TRUST YOU!!!!!!! NOW WE BEEN THROUGH THIS A ZILLION TIMES AND YOU NEVAH GIVE UP!!!!! AH SAID EN-OH!!!! READ MAH LIPS!!!!!!!!!'

The sound of a door slamming.

Remy retreated into the sun room, rubbing both hands against his ears, but he could no more shut out her shouting than he could a concert with the Rolling Stones, Kiss, U2, and Led Zeppelin all on the same stage together with him shackled in the front row. 'Sacre bleu!' he moaned. 'De woman drive Gambit crazy!'

Wolverine stopped his micro-pruning of the Bonsai. 'Guess yer outta luck fer dinner then.'

Remy combed through his mop of auburn hair with his fingers, completely exasperated and more than a little perplexed: No woman had ever turned him down before, and he wasn't sure quite what to make of it. 'Oui,' he sighed. 'An' Remy already make de reservations--Papa Nawlins kill me if I cancel now!'

'If ya want comp'ny fer dinner--well, I'm not as purty as Rogue, but I can eat twice as much.'

The red eyes widened. 'You mean dat, Logan? You be my date?'

'Just don't start gettin' ideas.'

Remy pointed a finger at him. 'I go get my coat--we late already!'

'I don't hafta wear a suit, do I?'

'Non! Tres casual! Papa Nawlins' Cafe be de bes' new Creole-n-Cajun rest'rant since Paul Prudhomme's! Remy can' wait--I not had fresh crawfish in six months!'

'Yeah, I'm sure there must be some deficiency disease ya catch if ya ain't eating ditch lobsters day-n-night.'

'Dis no joke, Logan! You wait--I treat you t' de bes' meal you had in all your born days!'

'We'll see about that.'

Remy was already sitting astride the Harley when Logan finally made it downstairs, and he looked so good he made the Canadian catch his breath: Those worn blue jeans were so soft and tight they emphasized every muscle in the Cajun's long legs and spare hips. Even that long-sleeved white shirt hugged his shoulders and waist as though it wanted to get as close to him as possible. He'd folded a long scarf into a strip and tied it as a headband around his forehead to keep the mass of russet hair out of his eyes. Logan was swallowed by the deepest and vastest of all disappointments when Remy shrugged on an old leather jacket. 'Hop aboard, mon ami!'

Logan held up his hands. 'Whoa there, boy. I always do th' driving.'

'Not dis time you don'. Dis bike not like anybody but Gambit hol'ing de handlebars; nobody else got a touch gentle 'nough f' her. You wan' eat, you gon' ride. Now get on.'

Meekly, Logan mounted the motorcycle on the seat behind Remy and tentatively put his arms around that slim waist. He'd never ridden on this bike before; it was a huge Harley with enough horsepower to leave a Porsche in the dust--and it was Gambit's pride and joy. 'Hol' on!' Remy called out, then he kickstarted the bike and roared onto the gravel drive toward the gate of Xavier's estate.

Logan found himself enjoying the ride, very much--maybe too much. He had to hold on for dear life and lean into Remy to take the turns, and it was the best excuse in the world to hold him. He'd never been attracted to a man before, but he found himself wondering what the Cajun would be like. If the reactions of the ladies were any barometer, he'd be more than good. He'd be the best. But would Remy know what to do if he wasn't in control of the siege? Hell, Logan wasn't sure HE knew what to do, if the time were ever to come.

Papa Nawlins Cafe was, from the outside, a rather nondescript little joint, but once inside it was filled to capacity with hungry patrons and otherworldly aromas. At least there was something besides LeBeau making Logan's mouth water. They seated themselves at a rickety table covered with a red-and-white checked tablecloth. Logan perused the menu briefly, but it was all in French and he had no remote idea how to talk Frog. He decided to check out his dinner partner instead.

Remy had become the center of attention as soon as he entered the restaurant. Everyone knew him, it seemed, and left their tables to greet him with hugs and kisses; even the waiters and cooks came up to him. All of them were speaking nothing but French, including LeBeau, but patron and employee alike were terribly glad to see him. Logan had never been comfortable in the company of French people before; they were too touchy-feelly for his tastes, and right now they were passing LeBeau around like the new grandchild at the family reunion. He went right along with it, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, embracing and kissing his admirers back, both men and women, letting them caress him as they would. Finally he announced that he was ready to order dinner--and no less than twenty individuals offered to pay for his meal. Remy initially deferred, but eventually agreed to allow all of them to split his tab among themselves.

'You Frogs ever hear that familiarity breeds contempt?' Logan snarled when Remy made his way back to their table.

LeBeau grinned sheepishly, blushing slightly as the Canadian X-Man's eyes raked over his dishevelled appearance. 'We never get t' de contemp' part.'

'Glad ya finally decided ta sit down an' order up 'stead 'o just standin' there bein' dessert fer everybody else. Is this some kinda pack thing in France? Thought I was gonna starve ta death.'

'Dey jus' reactin' to de charm power.'

'Well, turn it off so we can order some grub.'

The waiter came up to them, eagerly unfolding Remy's napkin and placing it in his lap for him. Logan tucked his napkin into the scooped neckline of his own tee shirt before garcon came HIS way. Remy rattled off his menu choices, smiling and obviously relishing the prospect of food he'd grown up on and loved. Then the waiter stepped over to Logan's side, chilling over like Iceman when he powered up; clearly, garcon didn't approve of Monsieur LeBeau's dinner companion.

Logan started to say, 'Just bring me whatever he's having,' but suddenly changed his mind. This fancy Frog waiter was looking at him as though he was the village idiot; he wasn't about to show his ignorance now. Rather, he opened the menu and pulled on his most suave and debonair (albeit hairy) face. Smiling benignly, as if he didn't notice he was the most uncouth simian to climb down out of the banyan trees, he began to point out menu items for the waiter hovering over his shoulder. 'That looks good,' he grunted, not even pretending to try to speak French, determined to brazen it out. 'I'll have some o' that', he pointed to the item on the menu with his finger, 'an' bring me some o' that, too.'

The waiter wrote it all down, then scurried over to Remy and showed him the ticket, jabbering away in French all the while. LeBeau just smiled and said something else, giving a little wave with his hand to dismiss the waiter, then reached for his glass to sip the wine.

'Well?' Logan demanded. 'What was THAT all about?'

Again, that brilliant smile over the rim of the wine glass. 'Oh, Pierre he jus' ask me if you REALLY wan' seven diff'rent kinds a' fish wid' your meal.'

Logan flushed angrily. 'What did you tell him?'

'T' bring de gen'leman whatever he ask for.'

Grateful that Remy had covered for his ignorance, but not exactly looking forward to having to eat all that fish, Logan changed the subject. 'So tell me about this charm power of yours. These Frog friends of yours acted like they was gettin' ready ta stretch ya out across th' table. Haven't seen so many hands all over ya since yer blind date with Spiral.'

Remy chuckled, remembering that date with the six-armed woman, and considered Wolverine's question. 'It funny, Logan. I can control my kinetic powers much better dan de charm powers. It always been easy t' get people t' do what I want--even when I jus' a pup. De trick is holdin' 'em back when dey wan' t' do t'ings I don' wan'.'

'Ya ever use that trick on the X-Men, punk?' Logan felt anger creeping around his ears. 'Ya ever use that trick on ROGUE?'

Remy simply shook his head. 'Non. I no' wan' Rogue like dat. She take me back as de man I am, or she stay wid' Joseph; I sink or swim on m' own an' dat's dat. I could make all a' you f'get my past--jus' by no' letting you t'ink a' anyt'ing 'cep' what I wanted you to, but I can' make my place dat way anymore. If I got t' earn my spot on de team all over 'gain, so be it.'

'Look, I just wanted ya ta know: We all do stuff when we're young an' stupid. Stuff we're sorry for later. Ya didn't know th' Marauders were there ta do murder, ya didn't kill anybody, Creed left a row o' claw holes in ya from yer chin ta yer crotch when ya tried ta stop it. Ya done th' best ya could ta make up fer what ya done, and I ain't holdin' it against ya. It ain't up ta me ta judge ya, kid.'

'Logan?'

His acute senses picked up the smell of salt. Then he saw: Remy's red eyes had welled up with tears. 'T'anks, Logan. Dat mean more t' me dan you know.'

Somehow, it didn't seem odd to Logan that he reached out to take Remy's chin in his right hand, took up the napkin in his left, and used it to dry the younger mutant's tears. It felt like something he should be doing; SOMEBODY in the X-Shack should be doing it--instead of giving the kid the cold shoulder all the time. Most of them had done worse things in their day than Remy had ever dreamed of, especially he himself. Hell, if the Morlock Massacre had meant anything to the X-Men, they would have gone right out before catching their breaths first and hunted down the Marauders before they'd had time to go to ground.

But they hadn't, and it was so damned easy to blame Gambit for everything, wasn't it? It was impossible to lie to Logan, and he smelled more sincerity on LeBeau than he did on any of the other X-Men these days. He pushed his chair over beside LeBeau's and put an arm around his shoulders; he didn't give a glorious goshdarn what anybody else thought. 'Here,' he said, pushing a napkin into Remy's hands.

' 'Scuse moi . . . '

Logan let him go, almost gladly. LeBeau's lips were trembling--and far too tempting.

Remy came back from the mens' room by the time the food arrived at their table. He'd dried up and washed his face. 'You gonna be okay?' Logan asked him. 'Ya know, if ya wanna go away, there's those on the team what'd come with ya.'

'No. I gon' stick it out, even if it take de rest a' my life. If dey wan' hate me, it no more 'dan I deserve.'

'You deserve a good meal right now. Look, I'm sorry I brought this stuff up. We'll talk about it later if ya want. Think ya can eat? I'm pickin' up scents from th' kitchen that're outta this world.'

A little more wine managed to salvage dinner for them. LeBeau cheered up a bit, and managed to eat enough to make Papa Nawlins himself happy (the Creole proprietor of the establishment came out to see about his guest, whom he'd been told was upset). Logan consumed all seven varieties of fish they brought him and made a great show of it, although he was at the point that he would have slept with Lady Deathstrike herself in exhange for a nice thick haunch of raw beef. But he kept LeBeau's glass filled, and was grateful for salty food that kept the Cajun drinking.

However, Remy was by no means drunk when they left Papa Nawlins'--just sweetly buzzed. He could probably have even driven the Harley, but Logan insisted they go to a room he kept in town. A room he used when he didn't want to be bothered. 'I wanna talk to ya,' he told the Cajun.

It was just an ordinary room in a New Salem boarding house, nothing fancy, but Logan had had some good times here. He pushed Gambit into the room and locked the door behind them.

LeBeau just stood there, looking at him.

Hell, he didn't know what to say to the kid.

Best to just get it out.

'We need ta talk about yer charm power,' he said.

Remy's expression suddenly took on a knowing look. 'Oh, no. It not affectin' you, is it?'

'What do YOU think?!'

'I sorry. I not mean to . . . I try t' keep it under control, but sometimes it slip.'

He wasn't lying.

Good.

Logan needed to know for certain that he wasn't being manipulated.

'Ya don't hafta be scared, kid. I ain't gonna rape ya.'

Relief passed across the handsome face.

'I . . . 'preciate dat, Logan. Can we leave now?'

'No.'

'Que?'

'It ain't . . . just th' charm power. I . . . want more'n that. Dunno what's come over me, if it's not yer charm power. Never felt this way 'bout any--'

Remy sat down on the edge of the bed, unable to remain standing. His hair fell across his face so that Logan couldn't see his expression, his shoulders bunched as he clasped those fine, long hands together atop his knees. 'Can you let me go, Logan?' he asked, forthrightly.

'Don't want to, but I will if that's what ya want. I said I wouldn't rape ya.'

LeBeau shook his head, spilling all that hair down his back. ' 'Ave you ever done dis?'

'No. Have you?'

Remy never wore long-sleeved shirts with plain button cuffs--always with French cuffs and cufflinks. Slowly, he stood up and began removing those cufflinks, laying them one at a time on the table beside the bed. 'When I was young. Did whatever I had t' to survive on de streets. Den when I 'dopted into de T'ieves Guild, I 'ad lots a' cousins. Slep' wid' all a' dem, no' jus' de femmes.' He suddenly looked up; for once in a several months, there was no shame in his eyes. 'I 'ave always needed affection--not jus' sex--but only from dose who love me. It my only rule, I swore it ev'ry time I sold myself f' a meal or a place t' sleep f' a night: I may not love my partner, but dey mus' always love me. Do you love me, Logan?'

'Yes. Damn you.' He realized that the empath couldn't be lied to any more than his feral senses could.

'Don't damn me, Logan. I already damned enough.' Remy loosened his scarf, worn about his neck like a tie, then unfastened the top buttons of the shirt, opening his collar, and held out his arms. 'Come here.'

Logan walked into those graceful limbs, feeling them close around his neck, encircling that slim waist with his own thick arms. He'd played and replayed this scene over and over in his mind--how it would feel to hold LeBeau: It was a heady, intoxicating feeling--more, it was wild and greedy. Remy was offering himself to someone he cared for, holding nothing back--Logan was determined he wouldn't be an animal, he would restrain himself, he wouldn't throw the Cajun down and take him like a beast.

Fumbling with the buttons of Remy's shirt, he opened them to the waist, then pulled the shirttail out of the jeans and finished opening the shirt. Remy stood nearly a foot taller than he, and Logan found himself at face level with that smooth bare chest; the Cajun hadn't worn a tee shirt. At first, Logan contented himself with pressing his face against Remy's chest, such a contrast to his own barrel chest, such soft skin, such--his mouth encountered a small nipple. It hardened between his lips, and Logan began to suckle at it until Remy gasped. Still holding Remy about the waist with one arm, he sent his other hand wandering over his chest until he found the other nipple, then began to tease it with his fingers.

'Logan, I . . . t'ink I gone . . . wobbly at de knees . . . '

The Acadian began to sink toward the floor, but Logan only slid his other arm under Remy's knees to lift him onto the bed. He laid the younger mutant down gently, as though he feared he would break, carefully moving his arms out of his shirt sleeves, unbuckling the belt, and pulling the jeans away from him--until Remy lay nude before him. He himself was fully clothed, and he wasn't in a particular hurry to get undressed--not when he could touch and taste the beautiful young man. They had plenty of time, and Logan was losing his inhibitions with every caress.

He did love Remy, he knew that now, and in this moment he would have killed anyone who might dare to touch him. LeBeau had suffered so much--to see him this way, his handsome face suffused with pleasure, longlashed eyes closed--this was what Remy was meant for, not being tormented.

Gambit tried to sit up. 'I can help . . .' he whispered.

'No,' Logan said, pushing him onto his back. 'I want to do it all. It's my way. I want you to be still. Perfectly still.'

The Cajun nodded. Logan had grown bold and was touching him as intimately as he pleased. Remy felt strange; he tended to be an aggressive lover himself unless confronted with a partner more dominant, then it was his nature to become passive--but he had never been more pliant than he was now; he had no control over this situation--if Logan suddenly turned vicious and elected to tear his guts out, Remy had no protection against him.

When Logan's rough lips crushed his own tender mouth, Remy surrendered without hesitation. There was desire, there was passion, there was love--and this man would rather die than hurt him. They were polar opposites in the looks department: Remy was inhumanly handsome, while Logan had a face that would scare jackals--yet how much difference was there in them beneath the skin? Both men had pasts they weren't proud of, futures they hoped would be better, and a single need between them.

Remy returned the kiss, almost dreamy with pleasure by now. He started to put his arms around Logan's neck again, only to find them pinned at the wrists to the mattress by Logan's ham-sized hands. When his lover had found the time to undress, Remy didn't know, because Logan straddled him now and there was no cloth between that tough, furry hide and his own golden skin. He tried to move his wrists, moaning in protest because Logan kept him pinned. Remy was frightened for only an instant, suddenly afraid that Logan would break his promise and rape him anyway.

Sensing his fear, Logan leaned closer and said, 'Don't be scared, boy. I'll stop if you want.'

Remy knew that he was lying this time. But that was all right, because he didn't want Logan to cease what he was doing. 'Non,' he whispered back. 'Take me, mon amour.'

'Not yet.'

Another hard kiss gagged Remy, followed by a firestorm of kisses so ardent and deep they left his mouth bruised and burning. He had one coherent thought: 'Logan is amazing for someone who's never made love to a man before'. Remy was well-experienced in being intimate with both sexes, but he'd never been so bowled over and TAKEN by a lover without outright rape before. In the brief minutes after Logan had declared his intent and before they'd tumbled into bed, Remy had expected to be the leader in the endeavor in light of his considerable experience to Logan's none--but Logan had simply taken his body and left his intellect in the dust.

The kisses began to move lower, trailing across Remy's chest, then his abdomen. Logan took his time, wanting only to savor this glorious creature who now belonged to him. Groaning, Remy tried to move his hands, his feet, anything, but Logan kept his wrists and legs pinned like the world's best wrestling coach, while he sought even lower for the deepest kiss possible.

Remy struggled, trying to free himself, wanting only to give Logan as much pleasure as Logan was giving him--but he was as helpless as a mouse caught by a feral cat. Helpless and overwhelmed by passion and power beyond anything he'd ever experienced before, he could only experience what Logan was doing to him and think, 'He really IS the best there is at what he does!'

The kisses lasted forever, until Remy was breathless. Finally he cried out, all passion drained dry from him in one long moment of utter abandon. He was barely conscious when he felt Logan turn him over onto his stomach.

It didn't hurt at all, as he'd feared it would. Rather, it was wonderful to give in to someone else with so much passion and skill. He'd never been so dominated, never rendered so helpless with pleasure. Sure, he'd been raped before, seduced and been seduced many, many times, and done more rolls in the hay than he could count; he'd considered himself an expert--but nothing could compare to the things Logan was doing to him.

As for Logan, he'd never suffered over any lover the way he had over Remy; he was used to just taking whatever he wanted on the spot, but the Cajun was well worth the anguishing he'd--better than any partner he'd ever had. He brought both himself and Remy to the brink several times, pushing both of them beyond all reason and endurance, and when he finally yielded to his own pleasure, Remy was weak and giddy from more outbursts of passion than he'd ever dreamed he could be capable of. All he could do was snuggle into the crook of Logan's arm and go to sleep.

Logan, however, lay awake for hours afterward, holding the younger man while he slept, just stroking his hair. He felt almost guilty; hell, he was old enough to be this boy's great-grandfather, in his long life he'd encountered the Thieves' Guild more than a few times, and he knew things about the Guild that even Remy didn't--such as the fact that the Guild's crown princes were given the Elixir of Life long before the formality of the Ceremony itself. It only made sense to start getting the boys used to it, and it had different effects on everyone who took it. Logan had heard about how it'd driven Remy's brother-in-law mad; that was because Julien Bordreaux, as a member of the Assassin's Guild, wasn't conditioned to it over the years as the Thieves were. Logan knew old Jean-Luc LeBeau very well, and wondered when he planned to break it to the boy that he was going to live forever (barring someone putting the business end of a shotgun against his skull and pulling the triggers, of course), that one dose of the Elixir had altered his mutant physiology--adding immortality to his powers that had only reinforced itself with successive doses. Unfortunately, it had also produced in him as a side effect the charm power that was more curse than blessing. Logan hoped that the immortality wouldn't be such a curse, and he made a silent vow to his new lover that he would protect him from now on.

He was still awake when the sun rose, still holding Remy. The Cajun had awakened for a short while during the night and laid down ground rules for their new relationship, and he was painfully honest with Logan: The knowledge of the affair was just between the two of them, for now, and trysts must be limited to Logan's room in New Salem (never at the Mansion). Further, Remy wasn't interested in settling down just now--except with Rogue--if she'd ever have him.

Logan accepted the terms Remy gave him; he knew it was for the best, and he was just grateful that LeBeau was willing to be with him on occasion. He was glad to get the apologetic kisses Remy gave so freely, he treasured the hours Remy spent lying in his arms. It was enough that this beautiful one would be generous with him once in awhile. He wanted only Remy's happiness.

And that, dear friends, is the true measure of love.

fin