Warning: Very Naughty But Tasteful Adult Subject Matter.
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, Ôcept 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, ' ÔAllo, 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 Ônough 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 Ôstead Ôo 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 Ôdan 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' Ôem 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 Ôcep' 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 Ôgain, 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 Ôdan 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.
' ÔScuse 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 Ôdan 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 . . . Ôpreciate 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 Ôbout 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. '
ÔAve 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 Ôdopted into de
T'ieves Guild, I Ôad 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 Ôave 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: ÔLogan 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.
