Not This Time

I want him. Now.  Remy's thoughts left his mind and raced through his
veins like new blood, a kind of adrenaline that only awoke when Logan was in his
thoughts. Remy tossed in his bed, facing the ceiling, arms behind his neck. He
moved them to his sides and felt his sweat on his hands. He imagined how slick
Logan's skin would feel under his touch, and how ardently he would touch him.

Remy's eyes focused on the ceiling, trying to push Logan out of his mind so he
could sleep. The plaster seemed to tremble under Remy's bright gaze. The same
way he trembled each time Logan's eyes fixated upon him.

I . . . want.. It's all Remy can think about, the only words he can mouth
into the darkness as he presses his own body down on the bed, thinking he is not
alone. And then he isn't--it is Logan who pushes Remy down urgently, capturing
both his wrists with one hand, bruising his mouth with a cascade of kisses and
bites. He parts Remy's legs with his knee, holding him by the waist as he kisses
him from throat to stomach. Remy never realises he is being undressed; with one
hand Logan keeps Remy in place and he pleasures him with the other, fist around
erection, in motion.

And it feels real, it feels real when Logan lifts Remy's knees and positions
himself between them, rubbing himself up and down against the younger man. He
runs his hands down Remy's chest as he pants in ecstasy, a string of French and
gasping--he cries out, his need as feral as Logan's moves.  Please,
please.  He can hear himself saying it. He can hear himself scream as Logan
enters him, holding still for a moment and then thrusting in and out, harder,
deeper, as he grunts and grinds against Remy, matching his rhythm.

Remy sees white, but he tastes Logan. He feels Logan. He opens his eyes again,
sits up. Logan is not there. Remy looks down, feeling the lust in his hands, the
heat in his body. A dream. But no more. He gets up, leaves the room to find
Logan. A dream? Not this time.
 

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